
Glass. 
Book. 



■I! ' 



t 4 



LITTLE TEN-MINUTES" 



OR 



A Pastor's Talks with 
His Children. 



By FRANK T. BAYLEY, D. D. 



DENVER 
THE CARSON-HARPER COMPANY 

1903 



^ 



s\ 






THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

DEC 14 »rw 

C»pyngr>? Entry 
CLASS O* XX* No 
' COPY A. 



COPYRIGHTED 1903 
BY FRANK T. BAYLEY 



Copies may be obtained on application to Mrs. Stuart Croasdale, 1574 York St., 
Secretary of the Woman's Association of Plymouth Church, Denver, <*olo. 



Appreciating the privilege tl?at we and 
our children J?ave enjoyed in hearing tfyese 
little talks, we wisfy to thank our pastor for 
allowing us to publish them and so to pass 
them on to other mothers and children. 

THE WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 
of Plymouth Church. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"Little Ten-Minutes" 9 

Why the Tree Fell U 

The Fluttering Bird 15 

On Duty 19 

The Child's Hand in the Vase 23 

Getting Ready 27 

The Old Power-House 3 1 

The Making of a Pearl : . . 35 

Fido and the Collection 37 

Washing the Wrong Side 39 

A Dream of the "Mansions" 43 

The Two Echoes 45 

Shifted Speech 47 

How to Keep a White Rose 51 

Sub-Calibre Practice; or the Big Guns 53 

Two Kinds of Wheels 57 

The Dead Sea, and Why it is Dead 61 

The Wick and the Oil 65 

The Mustard Plaster • ■ . . 69 

A King and His Captive 73 

The History of a Snow Ball 75 

The Blind Old Horse • • • 79 

The Little Queen 83 

The Sunny Side and the Dark Side 87 

The Bottle that Couldn't Be Filled 89 

"This Has Been Plastered" 93 

A Quarrel at Marbles and What Stopped It 95 



PAGE 

Flower and Fruit — An Easter Lesson 97 

The Dandelion Flower 101 

Giving a Man Another Chance 105 

" As a Hen Gathereth Her Chickens** 109 

Heaven in 

How the Tram Car Gets Up the Hill 115 

A Monkey and a Man 119 

Mendelssohn and the Organ 123 

The Unwatered Plant 125 

The Fire on the Hearth 129 

The Runaway Train 133 

Tommy's Brook and the Gargoyle 137 

The Father's Hand 141 

Self-Control 143 

The Upper Side of the Cloud 147 

Love's Scales; or, Why the Baby Wasn't Heavy ... .151 

How the Calla Came to be White . . • • 155 

The Two Monks Who Tried to Quarrel 159 

The Voice at the Telephone 163 

The Iceberg's Secret 165 

The Cuddled Babe 169 

TheTell-Tale . 173 

Two Angels and Their Baskets 177 

Two Apples 179 

The Weaver's Shuttle * * . . . 183 

Whitewashing vs. Washing White • 187 



"Little Ten Minutes." 

A QUEER name, isn't it, children! It was the 
name his mother gave him when he was a little 
boy. 

A few years ago a French prince, whose name was 
Napoleon, joined the English army in Zululand. Like 
the great Napoleon, for whom he was named, he was 
fond of war. And as there were then no wars in 
France, when he heard that the English were fighting 
the Zulus, he asked permission to join their army. That 
is how he happened to be fighting in Zululand. 

One day he rode outside the camp with a small 
squad of soldiers. Being a prince, of course he was 
allowed to command them. All about them in the open 
country were Zulu enemies: so many of them that it 
was not safe for the Prince to be where he was. One 
of the English soldiers said : "We would better go back 
to camp. If we stay here we may fall into the hands 
of the enemy." But the Prince said: "O, let us stay 
for ten minutes and drink our coffee !" So they stayed. 
But before the ten minutes were gone the Zulus came : 
and in the skirmish that followed the Prince was killed. 
There had been plenty of time to escape, but he said, 
"Wait a little!" And he waited until it was too late. 

When his poor mother heard that he was dead, 
and how it happened, she said: "That was his great 
mistake, even when he was a little boy: he always 



IO 



LITTLE TEN-MINUTES ' 



wanted to wait. He was never ready to go to bed 
promptly, or to rise in the morning. He was always 
asking for ten minutes more. Sometimes when he 
was called in the morning and was too sleepy to speak, 
he would lift his little hands and spread out his ten 
fingers, to show that he wanted ten minutes more. So 
I used to call him 'Little Ten-Minutes.' " 

So you see, children, how "the boy was father of 
the man." The habit that began while he was a .child 
grew upon him, and finally caused his death. 

I think his mother was much to blame. I suppose 
she thought that little trick of lifting his ten fingers was 
"cute:" and she laughed at it. But she wept after- 
wards. He was to blame, too; for he knew he was 
wrong. How dearly he paid for it! For it was this 
foolish habit of delay that cost him his life. Is there 
any "Little Ten-Minutes" among the Plymouth boys 
and girls, I wonder? 




Why the Tree Fell. 

(Illustrated with a piece of worm-eaten wood.) 

SOME YEARS ago I was passing through a forest 
in the state of Maine. Perhaps you know that 
Maine has been noted for its forests, though, alas! 
many of the finest of them have been destroyed. By 
and by I came to a large tree that had fallen, and I 
wondered why it fell. It had stood among many trees, 
some of them much smaller than itself, and none of 
them* had fallen. There was nothing to show that any 
great tempest had passed that way. Yet here it was, a 
noble tree of great size and height, lying on the ground. 
I wondered what mighty force had thrown it down. 

I found out after a while, as I looked at it care- 
fully, what had happened. I knew why it fell, with no 
wind at all to bring it down. Let me tell you about it. 
Many years before a little worm bored through the 
bark of the tree and began to eat the fibre of the wood. 
That was a small matter, wasn't it? Just one little 
worm! But soon there were more worms, and they 
were eating the fibre, too. And more and more came, 
and they all kept eating. And they went on until the 
inside of the tree was just honey-combed, like this piece 
which you see, for I brought some bits of it home with 
me and have kept them until now. The bark, mean- 
while, looked sound and well; for the worms did not 
eat that; they only bored through it and lived in the 



12 WHY THE TREE FELL 

tree. Any one passing by would have said the tree was 
a giant, well and strong, and likely to stand for a hun- 
dred years. But it was rotten through and through. 
The worms had left hardly a fibre of it. 

One day, a bright summer day, when all the other 
trees were singing in the breeze, suddenly it fell with 
a great crash that frightened the squirrels and sent the 
birds fluttering away. It fell, not because the wind was 
strong, but because it was weak. A gentle breeze 
pushed it right over! Its heart was rotten, and so it 
died. 

Sometimes, children, a man suddenly falls into a 
great and terrible sin. He is found to be a deceiver, a 
liar, or a thief. Perhaps he runs away with a great 
deal of money that belonged to other people, and the 
newspapers are full of the sad story of what is called 
his "fall." People wonder why he fell, how he could 
have been so bad so suddenly. Everybody thought he 
was a good man, and all of a sudden he is a very bad 
man. 

No, he did not become a bad man suddenly. He 
had been getting ready to fall, like the tree, for a good 
while, though nobody knew it. 

A long while before he fell a little worm got into 
his heart — the worm of falsehood and deceit. He told 
a lie when he was only a boy ; and then it was easier to 
tell another and another. He began to take what was 
not his — at first some little thing, for he would have 
been afraid to steal a large sum ! It was only a few 
pennies, or some toy that belonged to another boy. And 
then he lied to cover the first lie. He stole again to get 



WHY THE TREE FELL 



13 



something else he wanted. That means that other 
worms came in to lodge beside the first, all of them 
eating out the heart of his honesty together. 

So it went on for years. He pretended all the time 
to be a good man, and people thought he was ; for the 
worms leave the bark of the tree while they eat out its 
heart. 

But one day there came a breeze of peculiar tempt- 
ation. The man had no strength to resist, for a man's 
strength is in his heart, and his heart was rotten. So 
he fell. And while all the people wondered, God knew 
that he had been getting ready to fall for a long while. 

The only safety is in keeping the little worms out 
of the tree. Never let the first lie come in to eat out 
your honesty. Never take the first little thing that is 
not your own. Never let the first wicked thought come 
in to make its nest in your heart, to bring others after 
it. Then you will be strong, because you are pure. And 
the winds of temptation will not overthrow you. 




The Fluttering Bird. 

THE children's text for to-day came to me in rather 
a peculiar way. One day I was in the new church 
building, and I spied a bird flitting to and fro up among 
the timbers of the staging, evidently a good deal 
frightened. I pitied the poor thing, and wished very 
much that, without scaring it, I might get my hands 
upon it and cuddle it a little and then show it the way 
out. But it was far up toward the ceiling, and so much 
frightened that nobody could come near to it; and it 
would flit and fly back and forth across the space of the 
building, hither and yon, now flying against a window 
and now against the wall, and seeking in vain some 
way to get out into the bright, beautiful sunshine. 

I was sorry for the poor thing, for there was the 
open door all the while. If I had only known bird lan- 
guage I would have told it ; but to tell it I did not know 
how. 

The next day I went into the church again. The 
first thing I did was to look for the bird ; and there it 
was, poor, tired thing, flying back and forth again and 
beating itself against the walls and the windows, and it 
could not get out. I am sure the good men who were 
working in the building left some of the crumbs of their 
lunch so that the poor bird might find food. But oh, it 
was a prisoner ! The day was bright and beautiful, and 



1 6 THE FLUTTERING BIRD 

the dear thing did want to get out into God's great, open 
air, and I so wished it could! 

Well, it got out after a while. How, do you think ? 
It got tired and fell fluttering down, lower and lower — 
and there was the door ! And it just went out. 

Oh, it was so easy and so simple ! The door had 
been there all the time. The door was put there on pur- 
pose for birds and folk to go in and out at. But it 
didn't know how easy the way was. It was trying so 
hard, and in so many directions, and the poor thing 
thought it had to try desperately to get out. Oh, if it 
had only known that the door was open all the while ! 
If only it had been a little more humble in its flight and 
been contented to go lower down, then it could have 
gotten out easily long before it did. 

And then the text came into my mind. Now, are 
you children thinking what our text is this morning? 
Stop to think a moment. "I am the door." Who said 
that? Tell me, children. Who said, "I am the door"? 
Tell me, tell me out loud. Oh, let's not be afraid of 
these big people that are here, you and I. Who said, "I 
am the door" Can't I get you to tell me ? "Jesus," of 
course. You will find the text in the tenth chapter of 
John, the ninth verse. 

Well, then I was thinking how people sometimes 
are troubled on account of their sins — troubled to know 
the way out, and troubled about themselves — a great 
variety of troubles. They think if they only work hard 
enough and try long enough they will get out of their 
troubles; and they flit and fly and flutter, and dash 
hither and thither, trying all sorts of things, but they 



THE FLUTTERING BIRD 1 7 

don't get out. And Jesus is saying all the while : "I 
am the door." Sometimes the only way that some of 
us find the door is that we get so tired we cannot beat 
the air with our wings another moment, and with de- 
spair we fly lower, or fall ; and then we find the door. 

Do you know, children, that a good many people 
in other lands than this have felt that the only way to 
get their sins forgiven was to cut themselves with 
knives, or to hang suspended from a pole with an iron 
hook in their back, or to take long pilgrimages upon 
their knees? They must work so hard, and so long, 
and do so many things before their sins could be for- 
given. 

They are like that poor, tired bird beating itself 
against the walls. Oh, if they would only humble 
themselves a little and come a little lower down, right 
before them would be the open door, and that is Jesus 
Christ. That is the simple, blessed way for us all, just 
to give ourselves to Christ. He will take care of our 
sins, and take care of our despair, and take care of us. 
Jesus said: "I am the door." 




"On Duty." 



DEAR CHILDREN, I was reading the other day 
from a book, written by an Englishman, this lit- 
tle story, which made me think of you : 

This gentleman was sitting in a railway car in the 
station, just ready to start upon a journey, when he 
saw a railway official whom they call in England an 
inspector, approaching on the platform. He had a 
beautiful flower in his buttonhole, and just as he came 
opposite the gentleman's window, a ruffianly fellow, 
who was intoxicated, snatched the flower from his but- 
tonhole and threw it under the train. The gentleman 
watched to see what the inspector would do, knowing 
very well that such an insult as that would touch any 
man very quickly and keenly. He saw his face flush 
and his fist clench, and he waited for the blow ; but it 
did not come. The inspector's lips were only set more 
tightly as he turned away. A moment after, the gen- 
tleman saw him close at hand and said to him: "Sir, 
you took that splendidly." 

I think, boys and girls, he had a higher admiration 
for that officer than he would have had had he raised 
his clenched fist and struck the poor drunken man. 
Don't you think so ? At any rate, this is what he said 
to him: "Sir, you took that splendidly." The in- 
spector said : "If I hadn't been on duty, I would have 
knocked him down." "On duty!" He remembered 



20 ON DUTY' 

that he was not simply a man, but an officer; that he 
wore a uniform; that he represented a railroad cor- 
poration, and that he was entrusted with the dignity 
and the good name of the company. 

The thought at once came to him, when his fist 
was clenched and he wanted to strike, "I am on duty," 
and so he held himself down. I thought it was mag- 
nificent, and I want to say to my boys and girls that 
it might help them sometimes to keep their fingers open 
instead of clenched, and their lips closed to unkind 
speech, if they would remember that they are on duty. 
I want the girls and boys, when some sudden tempta- 
tion comes to speak a word that ought not to be spoken 
or to do an unkind thing, to remember that they are on 
duty. 

Some of the girls and boys here are members of 
Plymouth church. I wish they would remember, when 
they are tempted to do something that would be wrong, 
that the good name of this church is entrusted to 
them. Dear girls and boys, don't do anything that 
would make the church ashamed of you. 

And I want all of you to remember mother and 
father. You are on duty. You bear their good name, 
and you have in your keeping their very hearts. Re- 
member your duty to them when you are tempted to 
do what you ought not. And remember, above all, 
that God has put you on duty and in trust of His honor. 

If you keep these high thoughts in your hearts, 
dear girls and boys, it will save you from doing a good 
many things which you would think of afterwards with 
shame. 



ON DUTY' 



21 



Why should we not all, dear friends, old and 
young, take that splendid and inspiring thought into 
our hearts? "On duty! On duty!" 




The Child's Hand In the Vase. 

Mark 10:25: "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye 
of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of 
God." 

THIS TEXT almost frightens me. It is a dreadful 
thing not to enter into the kingdom of God; to 
be shut out from all the light and beauty, the good com- 
pany and the joy of His glorious world. And there are 
so many people who are rich, too! How dreadful to 
think that they are all in danger of losing the kingdom 
of God! 

The text puzzles a good many people. But it must 
be true, for these are the words of Jesus, our Saviour. 
His words are always true, and always full of tender 
love. 

I am sure that Jesus did not mean that a rich man 
cannot be a child of God and live in God's kingdom ; 
but only that it is very, very hard for a rich man to get 
in. Why do you think it is so hard, children? Cer- 
tainly, God loves a rich man as well as a poor man. 
God does not love anybody because he is poor, or wears 
mean clothes or lives in a little, shabby house. God 
loves us just for ourselves, not for what we have or for 
what we lack. God surely wants the rich man to come 
in. Then why is it so hard? 

Let me tell you a story which I have heard. I 
think it will help you to understand. 



24 THE CHILD S HAND IN THE VASE 

A child was playing one day with a beautiful vase 
which the mother had left on the table for a moment. 
When the mother looked, his hand was in the vase and 
he complained that he could not get it out. She tried 
to help him, and pulled and pulled, but the little hand 
could not get out. Mother called the father to come, 
and he tried. But the hand stuck fast in the vase. 
How should they get it out ? Of course they must get 
it out somehow! 

The father thought of breaking the vase. But it 
was so valuable that he did not want to do that. Yet he 
knew he must if the hand could get out in no other way. 
So he said to the boy, "Now, my son, make one more 
try. Open your hand and stretch your fingers out 
straight, as you see me doing, and then pull !" But the 
little fellow said, "Oh, no, papa! I couldn't put my 
fingers out straight like that, for if I did I would drop 
my penny !" He had a penny in his hand all the time, 
and he was holding it fast in his tight little fist ! And 
he didn't open his hand because he wanted to keep the 
penny ! No wonder his hand wouldn't come out ! Of 
course it wouldn't! 

But when once he opened his fingers and dropped 
the penny, out came the hand easily enough. 

The entrance into God's kingdom is narrow, like 
the neck of a vase. It is quite easy to pass in, but one 
must first open his hand to God. That is, he must give 
everything he has to God ; he can keep nothing back for 
his own. This is what Jesus meant when He said : "If 
any man will be My disciple, let him deny himself, take 



THE CHILD S HAND IN THE VASE 25 

up his cross and follow Me daily." Jesus gave up all 
He had for us, and we must give all we have to Him. 

But we like to keep our fists closed, to hold fast 
in our own hands what we have, to use it for ourselves. 
And when a man is rich, the danger is that he will love 
his money so much that he will not give it up at the 
door of the kingdom. So he stays out, not because God 
keeps him out, but because he clings to his money. He 
keeps saying, "This is mine ! I will not give it to God I" 
The boy said, "I can't draw my hand out of the vase !" 
But we know it was because he would not. He could 
if he would. It was his own clenched fist, that little 
hand clutching the penny, that made him a prisoner. 




Getting Ready. 



(Visible objects, two hyacinths, one in full flower, the other 
a bulb in a glass, the roots fully developed, the top just begin- 
ning to grow.) 

A LADY who was fond of beautiful flowers one day 
saw at a neighbor's house a glorious hyacinth, 
like this upon the desk. And she determined to have 
one for her own, to keep her company and to whisper 
beautiful secrets to her. 

So she bought at a floral store a hyacinth bulb. 
You know, children, some of the flowers grow from a 
bulb, not from a seed. I can imagine that the bulb was 
happy ! For I am sure it wanted to grow up, just as 
little boys and girls do when they think how fine it 
would be to be big ! And perhaps it was happy because 
it knew, somehow, that this lady loved flowers ; and so 
it was sure that it would be taken good care of. I sup- 
pose it was eager to be put right out in the sunshine, 
for all plants love the light and warmth of the sun. 
They just hate to be in the dark ! Did you ever see a 
potato vine that tried to grow down in a cellar? Poor 
thing! It looks discouraged enough. 

But where do you think the lady put the bulb when 
she got it home ? Not in the garden, where it could grow 
in the rich earth, nor even in the bay window, where it 
ecu Id at least revel in the sunshine; but in this green 
gkss. And then, as though that wasn't a bad enough 



28 GETTING READY 

fate, she set the glass away in a dark room ! T think 
the poor thing could hardly sleep that night ! 

Did not the lady know that a plant can send up 
green, bright leaves, and grow a bud and a flower only 
in the light? Yes, she knew that. Then why did she 
place the bulb in the dark ? I will tell you. 

She knew that the growth of a plant depends very 
much upon its having good roots. And she knew that 
the bulb might be tempted, if put at once into the light, 
to run pretty much to leaf and flower, leaving its roots 
too weak to hold out through the long, hot summer. 
Somehow it seems to be more fun to grow leaves that 
make a show than patiently to grow roots, which no- 
body sees and talks about ! So she put the bulb in the 
dark room, that when it came to the light it might be 
able to grow fast and steadily, without getting tired. 

And the plant, finding that it could not grow the 
pretty leaves that it wanted, determined to do the best 
it could. So it set to work to grow roots instead. And 
now look at these long, sturdy roots. They have grown 
in the dark, and now s they are ready for business all 
summer long. 

Now the lady will set the plant out in the clear sun- 
shine. It will grow very fast, and soon it will give her 
a beautiful flower, like this which you see in the pot. 

Boys and girls often have what we call a high am- 
bition. They want to be fine players on the piano or 
some other instrument ; to be great writers, successful 
in business, or perhaps ministers or teachers. I am 
glad if you all have noble ambitions, if you mean to 
make your lives tell for some great thing. But boys and 



GETTING READY 29 

girls sometimes forget that there must be roots before 
there can be fruits. They want to show at once how 
smart they are and what they can do. They do not 
want to wait. 

But it is God's way, and the way of wise parents, 
to keep the shooting bulbs in the dark for a while, that 
their roots may start first. So, dear children, you are 
set to the drudgery of "practicing" every day, of study- 
ing books, of serving as boy or girl in a store, where 
you have to obey other people's orders. And you get so 
tired of it! You want to come out into the big, open 
world and spread your beautiful leaves and hang your 
golden fruits for the passer-by to admire. No, no! 
Your leaves would soon shrivel and wither if you did 
not grow first of all the sturdy roots of character and 
training. This is God's way — character first, then 
service. 




The Old Power-House. 

MANY strangers in Denver have noticed the large 
building on the corner of Colfax avenue and 
Broadway, on which is the sign that tells the world how 
high Ave are above the sea — a whole mile in the air ! I 
know of no other signboard like it in the world. Many 
of the Plymouth children remember that a little while 
ago this building was called "the Power-House/' be- 
cause the big engines were there which made the street 
cars go all over the city. I hope many of you have no- 
ticed the great fly-wheels that revolved so steadily, never 
getting tired day or night. From these mighty wheels 
the cables of steel ran under the streets wherever the 
car tracks went. Do you remember how we used to 
hear them rattling as we crossed the rails ? And it was 
because the cars gripped fast to these strong cables 
that they went on so sturdily, up hill and down, never 
minding the heaviest loads, even when crowded with 
people. How wonderful it seemed that so many cars, 
in every part of the city, could be moved by the power 
that ran under the streets from that one building ! 

But all that is changed now. The street cars run 
by electricity, and the cables are no longer needed. And 
there are other power-houses where the electricity is 
made. So this poor old power-house is used as a store- 
house, where people leave their household goods for 
safe keeping when they are not using them. 



32 THE OLD POWER-HOUSE 

I almost feel sorry for the old building, as though, 
somehow, it had a feeling of being degraded. It seems 
so much finer to generate power and send it out to do 
splendid work all over the city than just to be stuffed 
with old furniture! 

I used to think that the old power-house was a 
fine illustration of what a church is for — a great center 
of power, with its lines reaching, like cables of 
steel, all over the city, to make things go right every- 
where, in our homes, in school, in stores and shops — 
everywhere. That, I am sure, is just what every 
church ought to be, a power-house of moral and spir- 
itual energy, where the mighty God himself takes hold 
of human life to move it aright. 

I think even the children can see that this is so. 
We come to church, we go to Sunday School to learn 
how we ought to live, what God wants us to do at 
home, at school, in our work and our play, whether we 
be men, women or children. But it is not enough to 
learn what is right. We need power to do the right. 
And God comes to us in the church, not only to teach 
us, but to make us strong ; to give us, each one of us, 
His own strength, so that, however hard our work, 
however steep the grades we have to climb, we may 
not fail. Surely the church is God's power-house, 
where He makes us strong for whatever we have to do. 

But I am afraid the old power-house as it stands 
to-day is an illustration, a very sad one, of quite another 
thing: of an idea which many people have of the 
church and what it is for. I fear that many men and 
women treat the church as though it were not a power- 



THE OLD POWER-HOUSE 



33 



house at all, but a store-house where they may keep 
their religion safe, so that some time when they want 
it they may know where to find it, the church having, 
meanwhile, stored it for them without much expense. 

I like to think of our own dear Plymouth church as 
sending great cables of power out through the city to 
make things go right all the week long ; to enable peo- 
ple to be good fathers and mothers, good teachers and 
scholars, good merchants and mechanics ! How fine it 
is to get God's power for life's work ! 




The Making of a Pearl. 

IN the third chapter of Malachi, in the seventeenth 
verse, God speaks of His jewels. "They shall be 
mine in that day when I make up my jewels." 

God's jewels are not the shining stars, though they 
are God's ; but beautiful souls. I was thinking the other 
day how souls become beautiful, and I remembered how 
pearls grow. You have seen and admired, I am sure, 
the lovely pearls that ladies like to wear. Perhaps 
Mother has one at home which she will let you look at 
carefully. And then you will want to know, I think, 
how pearls are made, how they come to be so beautiful. 
God makes the pearl, as He makes all the beauti- 
ful things about us — the trees and the flowers, the great 
mountains and the shining stars. But did you know 
that the lovely pearl grows in an oyster shell? The 
shell is rough and coarse, not beautiful at all. You 
would hardly expect to find a pearl in it, would you ? 

This is the way of it : The oyster has no idea that 
beauty is growing in its heart. It is busy every day, 
having a good time and never thinking of anything else, 
much, I think, like a boy or a girl ! But just having a 
good time never gave an oyster a pearl to wear, any 
more than it gives a boy or a girl the charm of a beau- 
tiful character. One day something happens. A rough 
bit of rock or sand gets into the oyster's shell. It hurts, 
and the oyster tries hard to get rid of it. Indeed, it 



36 THE MAKING OF A PEARL 

tries so hard that it makes the pain all the worse. It 
struggles and twists until it is sore, but all in vain. The 
thing that hurts is there to stay. 

After a while the poor little oyster gives up strug- 
gling, and determines to make the best of it, to be still 
and bear the pain. Then two things happen. First, it 
grows easier and easier to bear. And then a wonder- 
ful change begins. A crystal fluid begins to cover the 
rough bit of sand, giving it a round, smooth surface, so 
that it hardly hurts at all after a while. And the ugly 
thing begins to grow beautiful, too, growing larger and 
richer in color day by day. And so, while the oyster 
knows nothing about it, a lovely pearl is growing in its 
heart out of the very thing that seemed at first so cruel. 

By and by the pearl fisher finds the oyster, opens 
the shell and discovers a gem that is fit to be worn in a 
lady's necklace or in the coronet of a king! 

And so it is, often, that God makes a beautiful soul. 
We like just to have a good time, and when some sor- 
row or trial comes, we think it strange and hard. We 
fight against it and try to be rid of it. We ask God to 
take it away because it hurts us. But sometimes He lets 
it stay. He teaches us to be quiet, to accept the trial, to 
go on our way. It grows easier to bear when we are 
still. And His beautiful grace comes into our lives to 
change the trial into blessing. A pearl is growing in us, 
the jewel of a beautiful character. God watches it and 
delights in it. And some day He will wear it in His 
crown. 

This is the story of an accepted sorrow and a beau- 
tiful soul. 



Fido and the Collection, 

WE ARE coming soon, dear children, to that part 
of the service which we call the offering. It 
is sometimes spoken of as "the collection." Do you 
know there is a difference between the two, and that 
an offering is much better than a collection ? 

There was once a boy who had a dog, Fido, of 
whom he was very fond. One morning as the boy sat 
down to breakfast, he noticed Fido sitting close beside 
him, looking up into his face in that queer way which 
a dog has when he is expecting you to give him some- 
thing. His eyes were fixed on every movement. His 
tail lay straight out on the floor, except when his 
young master would look at him ; and then it wagged 
and beat the floor as though he felt sure of being fed 
now. _ 

Harry could hardly withstand the appeal of that 
hungry tail and those wistful eyes. I think some of you 
know just how he felt ! And when his father passed his 
plate, loaded with chicken, Harry was on the point of 
putting it down on the floor for Fido's breakfast. But 
his father told him it was too good for the dog ; it was 
for him; and after breakfast he might give Fido his 
portion. So Harry reluctantly ate his good breakfast, 
while Fido watched and waited. 

After the meal was over, Harry's father told him he 
might gather up the bones and the scraps and give 



38 FIDO AND THE COLLECTION 

them to the dog. When he had gathered them up and 
put the plate down he said : "Fido, I meant to give you 
an offering, but this is only a collection." 

This was the difference, wasn't it? The offering 
was what the boy wanted to give because he loved his 
dog; the collection was that which remained after 
everybody else had been satisfied. 

Which do you think we should give to God — a col- 
lection or an offering? 




Washing the Wrong Side. 

{SUPPOSE all the Plymouth children like to go 
down town these days to look in at the shop win- 
dows. How beautiful they are — full of pretty things for 
Christmas ! I wonder if any of the pretty things will 
come to your house or mine ! 

Suppose you should see on one of these fine, large 
windows a spatter of dirt, a big, black stain ? "What a 
pity !" you would say. Why, it just spoils the window. 
Nobody can help seeing it. How strange that the store- 
man does not wash it away ! A spot of dirt on a stone 
lying in the street you wouldn't notice at all. But a 
stain on a window — what a pity ! Nobody likes to see 
dirt out of its place, on a window or on the face of a boy 
or a girl. 

Do you know what makes the worst kind of a 
stain? There are stains that get upon a lady's dress 
sometimes that are hard to get out ; stains of ink or of 
paint. But there is a stain far sadder to see than any 
of these — a stain on the soul. These other stains do 
not go very deep. They may spoil a dress, but you can 
get another^ dress. But there is a stain that goes right 
down deep into a person. It makes a mark on his heart, 
a dreadful spot, blacker than ink. It is the stain of sin. 
When anybody does wrong, there is that awful mark 
upon him. He may not notice it himself for a while. 
But God and the holy angels see it. And some day he 



40 WASHING THE WRONG SIDE 

will see it himself, and can't forget it. It will make him 
very unhappy ; and he can't be happy until it is washed 
out. 

David knew there was a stain on his soul — the 
mark of sin. And he prayed that God would wash it 
away. God does wash away our sins if we are sorry 
for them and ask Him to do it ; so that a man who has 
sinned may be pure and white again, "whiter than 
snow." 

But God's way of washing away sin is quite differ- 
ent from the way men sometimes take. Let me show 
you what I mean with this bit of glass. You see the 
black spot upon it. We don't like the looks of it, so let 
us wash it off. I take this piece of cloth, wet with clear 
water, and rub the spot. But it does not go away. Per- 
haps I have not rubbed hard enough. Now I rub hard 
enough, surely! But the spot remains. I will try a 
better way. One corner of the cloth has been soaped ; 
we will try that. But no, the spot is still there, black 
as ever! What shall we do? Ah! Here is a corner 
of the cloth that has been sand-soaped. Sand is sure to 
remove the spot. We will try it, rubbing hard! But 
still there is that black stain ! It will not yield. 

Oh ! I have been rubbing the wrong side of the 
glass all the while! The spot is on the inside, and I 
have been working on the outside. No wonder I have 
not succeeded. I will just turn the glass and try again. 
See how easily it is done! With only one or two 
touches of the cloth the stain is removed; the glass is 
perfectly clear. 



WASHING THE WRONG SIDE 



41 



There are these two ways of trying to wash away 
our sins. People very often try the wrong way. They 
wash the outside of the glass. They try to stop saying 
bad words, but they leave bad thoughts in the heart. 
They try not to take what isn't theirs, but they keep on 
wishing they had it. They don't strike their enemy, but 
they go on hating him. They are washing the outside 
of the glass. The stain remains, for it is on the inside, 
down deep in the heart. Jesus told people that all their 
sins were in their hearts. 

God's way is very different. He takes away sin 
from the heart. He takes away evil thoughts and 
wrong desires. He cleanses the inside, not the outside. 
Then the light of His love shines right through into our 
hearts, and that is happiness. 




A Dream of the " Mansions." 

I WANT to tell my children this morning the story 
of a dream which I have read. A lady who was 
very rich dreamed that God called her up to heaven and 
that she was going through the streets of the glorious 
city, a guide with her to show her the way. She no- 
ticed a very fine mansion being built. You know, chil- 
dren, Jesus spoke about mansions in heaven, and He 
did not say that they would be all alike. He did say, 
"Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven," so that 
apparently we have something to do, as well as God, in 
preparing our places in heaven. We may send things 
up — not houses and lots nor money, but kind deeds, 
deeds of love, deeds of humbleness, acts of gentleness 
and generosity. I think those are the treasures that 
may go straight through the gates into the city. 

This lady was passing through the streets with her 
guide, and she saw this mansion — a fine, glorious-look- 
ing structure. And she said to her guide : "Whose is 
that?" I think she must have felt that she would like 
it for her own. And she was very much surprised when 
the guide answered, "That is for your gardener." "For 
my gardener?" she said; "Why, he never lived in a 
mansion on earth ; he lived in a little bit of a house. He 
might have had a finer home if he hadn't given away so 
much." 



44 



A DREAM OF THE MANSIONS ' 



The guide said nothing in reply, and they went on. 
Soon they came to a plain-looking house. There was 
nothing mean about it, for there is nothing mean in 
heaven. But it was no such mansion as the other ; not 
nearly so beautiful and * attractive. The lady said, 
"Whose is this?" And the guide answered, "That is 
for you/' "For me ?" she said. "Why, I always lived 
in an elegant mansion on earth." "Yes, I know," the 
guide said, and he said it sadly, "but the Great King 
of heaven is doing the best He can with the material 
that was sent up." 

Now, if you don't know just what that means, I 
want you to ask your mothers and fathers when you 
get home. It is a sad thing, is it not, a sad thing to 
have to say that, with all His love, and kindness, and 
goodness, the great God Himself was limited. He 
could only do the best He could with the material that 
was sent up. 




The Two Echoes. 

I SUPPOSE boys are always interested in boys; 
and I half believe that girls are, too! So I think 
all of my Plymouth girls and boys may like to hear a 
story of a boy. 

This boy lived on a hillside, not far from a big 
pond. And on the other side of the pond was another 
hill, with woods. The boy had never been over there, 
but he often looked across the pond and wondered 
what was on the other side, especially in the woods. 
Boys always like to know what is on the other side, 
don't they? And so do girls, and, for that matter, 
everybody does. That is why we turn things over, isn't 
it? And that is why Columbus crossed the ocean, just 
to find out what was on the other side. 

One day this boy stood on top of the hill where his 
house was, looking across the pond, wondering. He 
happened to speak quite loud, just to himself, and he 
thought he heard somebody answer from the hill over 
there. So, after listening a moment and hearing noth- 
ing, he said, "Halloo!" And then he heard a voice 
from the other side answer, "Halloo !" It sounded just 
like his own voice, and he said to himself, "There is 
another boy over on the other side!" He wondered 
about that other boy, what he looked like, how big he 
was and what sort of a boy he might be. Pretty soon 
he cried "Halloo!" again, and the boy answered him, 



46 THE TWO ECHOES 

but said not another word. He was vexed that the boy 
should mock him, only repeating what he had said, and 
in exactly his own tone. Nobody likes to be mocked, 
I am sure ! So he shouted, "You're a mean boy !" And 
it came back, just as he had spoken it, "a mean boy !" 
This made him more provoked than ever, and he shout- 
ed, "I don't like you!" And he heard, in an instant, 
"don't like you!" Away he ran home to his mother 
and told her about the bad, saucy boy that lived on the 
other side of the pond. 

What do you think the mother said? She only 
laughed, and told him to try the boy again, speaking 
kindly to him, to see if he would not speak pleasantly 
in return. So he went to the top of the hill again and 
shouted, "Halloo, there!" as he did before. And at 
once the answer came back, "Halloo, there !" Then, re- 
membering what his mother said, he shouted, "You're 
a good boy!" And he heard the other fellow say, 
"good boy!" This pleased him. He began to think 
that his mother was right when she told him that that 
other boy might be a good boy, after all, only he hadn't 
spoken kindly to him. After a moment he tried again. 
This time he shouted, "I like you !" And, sure enough, 
instead of a harsh word from the boy on the other side, 
he heard him say, "like you !" 

So he concluded that the other boy was a sort of 
echo of himself ; that when he spoke pleasantly he got 
pleasant words in reply ; and it was only when he was 
cross that he got cross words back again. I think it is 
so with us all. The other boy is our echo. Love begets 
love; kindness brings kindness. And every man's 
world is what he makes it. 



Sifted Speech, 



(Illustrated with a little box of sand and pebbles of various 
sizes, with two sieves, one quite coarse, the other fine.) 

KING DAVID once prayed that God would set a 
watch upon his lips, so that he might not speak 
wrong words. And we know as well as David did that 
there are words that ought not to be spoken. They 
often come to our lips and are eager to get out; but 
we sin if we speak them. 

We may well pray David's prayer, asking God to 
keep our speech pure and right. But we must set a 
watch ourselves, lest the evil words escape. How easy 
it would seem, just to keep our lips shut! But it is 
sometimes very hard, is it not ? The words come from 
our minds so quickly and they are so eager to get out ! 

It is worth something to know what kind of words 
we ought not to speak. So I am going to give my chil- 
dren two rules, two ways of knowing the naughty 
words. 

Here is a little heap of sand and pebbles. We will 
let it represent words, some good, some bad. See how 
they all want to get out of the box as I tip it — all of 
them together! That is just the way with our words, 
is it not? How shall we know which to let pass, and 
how shall we keep back the bad ones ? 

I have a sieve (using the coarser one). As I put 
it over the box, you see it keeps back some of the peb- 



48 SIFTED SPEECBt 

bles. These big ones cannot get through. This is the 
sieve of truth. It asks every word that comes, "Are 
you a true word ?" And none can pass that is not true. 
This is the first rule of speech : Every word must be 
true. 

But a good deal of the stuff in our sand-box got 
through. It had no difficulty in passing the sieve. 
Most of the words that wanted to come were true 
words. Here, now, is another sieve. We will see 
if they can pass this test (pouring the material on 
the finer sieve). Ah, here are a good many peb- 
bles that will not go through! They could pass the 
first sieve, but not this one. This is the sieve of kind- 
ness. It asks of each word that comes, "Are you a 
kind word?" And not one can pass that is not kind. 
A good many words are true that are not kind, and it 
is cruel and wrong to speak them. Some of the pebbles 
that passed the first sieve are quite large, you see. See 
how hard they strike as I throw them against the box 
cover. My! Wouldn't they hurt if you threw them 
against anybody's face! Of course you wouldn't do 
that. I know that very well. But is it not worse to 
make a body's heart bleed than to cut his cheek? 
Words are often more cruel than blows. Yet many 
people speak cutting words who would never strike a 
blow in the face. I think they cannot realize how the 
unkind words hurt ! 

We have tested our little boxful with both the 
sieves. Here is the fine, soft sand that has run through 
them both. See how gently it falls in my hand ! Such are 
the words that are both true and kind — good words, 



SIFTED SPEECH 



49 



such as will do good, and not evil ; words that God will 
bless. 

I believe we are more in danger of forgetting to 
use the sieve of kindness than the sieve of truth. If a 
word is only true, we think we have a right to speak it. 
But God wants us to be both true and kind. And not a 
word should we speak which cannot pass both the 
sieves. 




How to Keep a White Rose. 

ALONG TIME AGO, dear children, a gentleman 
took a white rose to a man who was laid up by 
an accident. It is pretty hard to be kept in the house 
week after week during the bright spring days, suffer- 
ing pain from broken bones ! That was what the gen- 
tleman thought when he carried the flower. And he 
thought, too, that it might be pleasant for the sick man 
to see a friend, to have a cheery word and to get a sniff 
of the fragrance. So he carried the rose. 

That was a good many months ago. The gentle- 
man had almost forgotten. If any one had asked him 
about it he would have said, "O, that white rose of 
long ago? Yes, I believe I did take one over there." 
But he would not think it worth remembering. 

This very week, however, the gentleman had a let- 
ter from the sick man, in which he said: "The white 
rose you brought me last spring is still fragrant in my 
memory." A rose that kept for six months, and is fra- 
grant still ! That is a secret worth learning, is it not, 
children ? And if for six months, why not for a year, 
and forever? If the gentleman had kept the rose, 
wearing it in his buttonhole, or putting it in a vase on 
his table, he would have had to throw it away within a 
few days. It would have faded. The petals would 
have drooped and fallen ; the rose would be worse than 
useless. But he had only to carry it to the sick man to 



52 HOW TO KEEP A WHITE ROSE 

make it last six months ! Indeed, I am sure it will last 
much longer. For the sick man wrote, it is "fragrant in 
my memory still/' So it will be fragrant as long as his 
memory lasts. And memory lasts a long time. 

This art of preserving things that are sweet and 
keeping them beautiful a long, long time, is one of the 
best I know. You can use it for so many things besides 
flowers, too — things that will soon fade and be gone if 
we keep them for ourselves, but which will be fragrant 
always if we carry them on some errand of love. 




Sub-Calibre Practice; or The 
Big Guns. 

OUR Plymouth children are all familiar, of course, 
with the wonderful story of last summer's war 
with Spain ; and they know that the fighting was very 
largely done by our ships. You have all heard, per- 
haps, of the great thirteen-inch guns which had some- 
thing to do with our naval victories. I presume you 
have seen pictures of these guns, and perhaps you 
have some idea of their length and their weight, 
the size of the ball which they threw and the distance 
over which they would carry. 

Think, children, of a gun large enough for a small 
boy to crawl into and strong enough to bear the ex- 
ploding of a charge of powder weighing more than a 
barrel of flour and able to send a tremendous bullet ten 
miles ! But you know very well that these great guns 
would never have won a victory had it not been for the 
men who manned them. And those men — good men 
as they were, brave and true — would never have won a 
fight with the big guns had it not been for the practice 
which they had had beforehand. But how do you sup- 
pose they acquired the skill requisite to the handling of 
these big guns? You say, by practicing with the guns. 

Well, they must have practiced a great deal, must 
they not? Many, many, many times they must have 
aimed and fired these monsters. But that would have 



54 SUB-CALIBRE PRACTICE; OR THE BIG GUNS 

been a very costly practice, for it costs two or three 
hundred dollars to fire one of these guns a single time ; 
and to fire them hundreds and thousands of times for 
the practice required would have been too costly. 

No, they did not practice by firing these big guns 
very much. How, then, did they practice? It was in 
a way that was very curious and interesting. Have 
you ever seen in the papers or heard your parents use 
the phrase "sub-calibre practice"? "Sub-calibre prac- 
tice." That means small-size practice. 

Instead of firing the big guns, with their enormous 
bullets and costly charges of powder, at a target stand- 
ing four or five or six miles away, they fastened inside 
the monster gun the barrel of an ordinary rifle. The 
breech end of the gun barrel was connected with the 
opening in the breech of the big cannon. Then the tar- 
get was brought correspondingly near to the gun and 
the charge actually fired was simply a rifle charge, a 
cartridge which you might carry easily in your hand 
and with your fingers put into the mouth of the rifle. 

They did not fire the big cannon at all in such 
practice, but only the rifle which was fixed in the 
cannon ; yet everything was so arranged that the prin- 
ciples involved were precisely the same as in firing the 
big guns themselves. A small rifle, a small charge of 
powder, and a small bullet, with a small target and a 
short distance between the cannon and the target. 
Everything was proportionate, so that they actually 
learned, by firing this small charge from a small gun 
how to fire the big guns, with their tremendous roar 
and their effective execution at the greater distance. 



SUB-CALIBRE PRACTICE; OR THE BIG GUNS 55 

Now is the time for our text. "He that is faithful 
in that which is least is faithful also in much." The sol- 
dier who learned accuracy of range and aim and quick- 
ness of fire in this sub-calibre practice, this small range 
practice, learned also the mastery of the great guns; 
for the same principles applied to both. 

Now, you and I would like to be great guns, per- 
haps ; to fire great charges and make a great noise, and 
hit a big target a long way off. And we are looking 
around for the opportunity and we do not see it, be- 
cause we are in a world of small things. But the small 
things are governed by the same principles as the large 
things, and it is by doing the small things faithfully 
and well that we are to be trained to do the large things 
effectively by and by. This will bear your thinking 
about. I hope you will talk it over with your parents 
at home and remember that though your life is made 
up of sub-calibre practice, the small-range practice, yet 
the same principles are involved as in the greater work 
which God has for us to do in Eternity by and by. So 
the question for us is : Are we faithful in that which 
is least, that we may learn by and by to be effective in 
that which is greater? 




Two Kinds of Wheels. 

I WANT to find the faces of the little people now. I 
suppose all the boys, and many of the girls, have 
noticed sometimes, when a street-car has a heavy load 
and has come to a stop, that when it begins to move 
again some of the wheels whirl much more rapidly than 
the others. Stop and think a moment. Have you ever 
noticed that? — that when a street car is starting, some 
wheels go around much more rapidly than others ? You 
know the wheels on which the street cars run are in 
two sets ; there are two trucks, and in each truck there 
are four wheels. Two wheels in either truck, one on 
each side, go round at once very rapidly, and the other 
wheels move very slowly — they only go as fast as the 
car goes. 

What is the reason for that? Here is a strange 
thing, is it not, that on the same car, in the same trucks, 
side by side, there are some wheels that make the car 
go, and some wheels that the car makes go? Get 
that fixed in mind : some wheels make the car go — oh ! 
how they buzz when they first try to start it — and 
others of the wheels don't go at all except the car 
makes them go. Some push the car, the others the car 
pulls. 

If you were a wheel, which would you rather be, 
a buzz wheel or a burden wheel? — that is, a wheel to 
make the car go, to start it right up Capitol Hill when 
it is loaded with people, or a wheel just to wait and see 



58 TWO KINDS OF WHEELS 

whether the car was going or not. I think you would 
rather be a buzzing wheel, a wheel to make something 
go, instead of a wheel that doesn't do anything but 
drag along. 

I am glad you are never to be wheels, but some- 
thing better. But you will have a chance to make 
things go, though you are not wheels ; and you will be 
tempted just to have things make you go — you will be 
tempted to be a dummy wheel instead of a buzzing 
wheel. In the home, for instance : You awaken in the 
morning and say, "Oh, dear ! I hope mother is up, and 
will have a nice, hot breakfast ready by the time I am 
dressed!" Now you are a dummy wheel! You are 
just expecting that father and mother will drag you 
along ; and as fast as they drag you along, of course, 
you will go. 

There is another way. Suppose you think in the 
morning, "Here are the fires to be lighted, and all these 
things to be done — I wonder what I can do ! I wonder 
if I could help mother get breakfast. I want to make 
things go ! I want to help ; I don't want to be a silent 
partner !" 

Or in school. I suppose there are a good many 
dummy wheels in school. Teachers could tell about a 
good many boys and girls that just dump right down 
in their seats, and if the teacher can drag them along, 
they go, because they have to. But there are others, 
you know, who seem to think they ought to help make 
things go. They take their books in their hands in a 
fresh, bright way — they want to make the school, as 
well as to have the school make them. 



TWO KINDS OF WHEELS 59 

I wouldn't wonder if it were so in churches. I 
think there was once a church into which some people 
came who just expected that church to move them 
along, and if the church didn't move them along, they 
generally found somebody to blame. Other people 
came who were moving powers to help in the work ; to 
help the preacher, to help in many ways — in all its 
effort. So they just took hold and made things go. 
They didn't wait to have things move them. 

Which will you be, dear children? Will you be 
among the wheels that make things go, or among the 
wheels that wait to be moved? The only difference is 
that some of the wheels in the truck are connected with 
the power, the electricity, and they take the car along, 
whether it will or not. The other wheels are just as 
good wheels; they are just like the others, only they 
are not connected with the power. The car moves and 
takes them along; they cannot help going, but they 
have no power, because they don't reach up to take hold 
of the power. 

I hope none of my children will be dummy wheels, 
but rather power wheels, as long as they live. 




The Dead Sea, and Why It Is Dead. 

THE children's text this morning is upon the wall 
behind us. I wish all the children could see this 
map, familiar though it is to them. This is the map of 
Palestine, children, as you know; and our text lies at 
two points upon it. 

Up here is the Sea of Galilee, and here is the 
great salt sea which is called the Dead Sea. The Sea 
of Galilee is very much smaller than the other. I sup- 
pose that the Dead Sea is the most remarkable body of 
water upon the globe ; while the Sea of Galilee would 
hardly be noticed at all, except that the name of our 
Lord is associated with it. 

The Sea of Galilee receives the mountain streams 
that come down from the north. It seems to be glad to 
have them, and yet equally glad to let the waters go. It 
welcomes them, but it lets them go with its blessing to 
the south ; and these fresh, pure, mountain waters pass 
out of this little lake through the Jordan until they 
come to this great sea — the salt sea. 

Now the marked difference between the two bodies 
of water is this : The Sea of Galilee is sweet and fresh 
and pure, the fish love to live there, a great many green, 
beautiful things grow all about it, and in the time of 
Christ a good many boats sailed upon it and there 
were cities and towns close by. In a word, the Lake 
of Galilee was the center of fresh, beautiful sparkling 



62 THE DEAD SEA, AND WHY IT IS DEAD 

life ; but the Salt Sea in Christ's time and in our time 
is in marked contrast in all these respects. The water 
no man can drink. It is very, very salt, and more 
than that, it has a kind of bitterness because of the 
chemicals that are in it. There are no fish there; no 
birds fly about it; nothing green and beautiful grows 
upon its banks ; there are no towns and cities ; the whole 
region is a forsaken, desolate, forbidding wilderness. 
And yet, children, it is the same water which pours 
down from the mountains and flows first into Galilee 
that finds a place afterwards in the Dead Sea. 

Why is there such a contrast? I'll tell you why. 
This little lake above seemed to say to itself, Now I'll 
take all the sweet waters that flow down from the 
mountains ; I'll make a pleasant home here for the fish ; 
I'll win the birds to sing and men shall fish here and 
shall live upon my banks where the green things grow 
up ; then I'll remember the country down below, to the 
south, and I'll pour my waters down upon it and keep 
the flowing stream running day and night ; all the year 
through and year after year I'll do all I can for the 
further and larger world. And so its waters are al- 
ways fresh because they are always flowing. 

But this body of water down here, the Salt Sea, 
established a kind of trust. You must ask your fathers 
what that means. First of all, it got away down as 
low as it could. It is about 1,300 feet lower than the 
Mediterranean Sea and much lower still than the Lake 
of Galilee. You know water always runs down hill, 
and the steeper the hill, the faster the run. And this 
Sea seemed to think that it had got away down under 



THE DEAD SEA, AND WHY IT IS DEAD 63 

all the other bodies of water, so that all the water 
above would have to flow and tumble and dash into it. 
And then it thought it would build its walls up so 
high that there would be no outlet. All that it got, 
it would keep and keep and keep. So there is no out- 
let at all. The walls are precipitous, — very high a 
large part of the way around; and there's no chance 
for the water to get out. That was a fine scheme, — 
to get all the water it could and keep all it got. And 
that is the secret. The selfish old Sea got a good deal 
of water, not only from the River Jordan, but through 
smaller streams pouring in all the time ; but it doesn't 
keep all that it gets after all. 

The pure, sweet water won't stay there! How 
does it get away ? It climbs to Heaven on a sunbeam. 
There's no other way out, but it won't stay there. 
And so the Dead Sea keeps only the impure, salt, bit- 
ter parts of the water, while the sweetness goes up to 
Heaven on a sunbeam. 

Now there are people, children, like the Sea of 
Galilee, and there are people like the Salt Sea. There 
are people who love to get that they may give. The 
very birds love to sing about such people's heads, and 
other folk gather about them, as they gathered about 
the Sea of Galilee, to bless them. They are always 
getting; they are always giving; and all their inner 
life is sweet and bright and pure and blessed. 

Then there are people who try to get the advantage 
of other people so that all the blessings and advantages 
will come to them; and they try to keep all they can 
get. But they are never sweet and pure, never bright, 



64 THE DEAD SEA, AND WHY IT IS DEAD 

never blessed. Somehow the best things won't stay 
in their hearts and lives any more than the sweet, pure 
water would stay in the Dead Sea. 

I wonder what kind of lives yours are going to 
be, Plymouth children? Are you going to get all 
you can and keep all you get? Then your lives will 
be a salt sea ; you won't help others ; you won't brighten 
the world and your own bosoms will be full of bitter- 
ness. 

Oh, I hope you are going to be like the Sea of 
Galilee, always getting from the mountains above and 
always pouring out as fast as you get ! And then your 
lives will be full of sweetness and brightness and sur- 
rounded by beauty and freshness. And people will 
thank God for you. 




The Wick and the Oil. 

JESUS said to his disciples, "Ye are the light of 
the world." He bids us all to shine! Wouldn't 
you think, children, that everybody would want to be 
a shining light, because light is so sweet, so beautiful 
and so necessary to enable people to see and to act? 
What a fine thing to help God light up the world, mak- 
ing it bright and fair, and showing people where to 
walk! 

But people sometimes try to light the world and 
make a miserable failure. Their lights go out after 
a while, and they feel ashamed and sorry, almost, that 
they tried to shine., Nobody likes to be laughed at 
for failing. And this is one reason, I am sure, why 
a good many people don't try to shine. They are 
afraid they will not hold out, and so they will not 
even begin. 

I have in my hand a bit of wick, just like that 
which you see in lamps. I hear it say, "Now, I am a 
wick and I ought to shine! I will!" So it lights up 
and begins. (Light the wick with a match.) See it 
shine ! But it isn't a very bright light, is it ? It splut- 
ters and flickers. And — dear me ! — it is almost burned 
out, already. There! I had to drop it lest it should 
burn my fingers. 

A pretty poor light, wasn't it ! I almost feel like 
laughing at it, only it tried; and we should never laugh 



66 THE WICK AND THE OIL 

at anybody who tries. And, see, the wick is burned 
up, destroyed. It can never even try again ! 

That is just the way with people, often: they 
light up and try to shine. They try to be good and to 
do right, and so to lighten the world. But they find 
out that their light is so poor ! After a while it actually 
burns out, and they are so ashamed! they wish they 
had never begun. And they say they will never try 
again. 

But here I have another wick, in the lamp. Now 
I have lighted it. It shines with a clear, steady light. 
We will watch it a moment. Ah ! it isn't going out, is 
it ? Why, it was burning all last evening and it didn't 
go out! And it would light our room every evening 
for a month and wouldn't burn out. So we see it is 
possible for a tiny wick to give light without being 
consumed: for this wick is just like the other. 

There must be some secret here. Why is it that 
of two wicks just alike, one should splutter and go 
out in a minute when it tries to shine, while the other 
shines brightly night after night? 

Oh! — we didn't notice, did we, that this second 
wick is in the oil all the while. When it begins to feel 
the flame it just calls for oil: and the oil in the lamp 
begins to run up into the wick. And it keeps up a 
steady flow all the time, feeding the flame. So the 
poor little wick does not have to bear the brunt after 
all. It is the oil that burns, not the wick. The wick 
simply stays in the oil and the oil fills the wick. 

Here is another way, then, of giving light. It 
isn't enough to light up: we shall soon burn out if 



THE WICK AND THE OIL 67 

that is all. We must keep the wick in the oil. Then 
the oil will always fill the wick, and our light will burn 
brightly and steadily. We shall not "go out." 

Jesus is the oil in the wick. He said, "Without 
me ye can do nothing." And he also said, "If ye abide 
in me, ye shall bear much fruit." Paul said, "I can 
do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." 
And so can we. But we can do nothing alone. 




The Mustard Plaster. 

AS I have been thinking during this week of the 
Plymouth children, something led me to wonder 
if all of them had made the acquaintance of the mus- 
tard plaster. 

Do you remember, girls and boys, that day when 
the dreadful thing was prepared under your eyes, with 
its cold, clammy, slippery look, and then your chest 
was bared to receive it ? If you do, you remember not 
only the look and the smell of it, but how it felt — may 
be cold and clammy at first, but very soon hot enough. 
How it did bite and sting and smart, and how eagerly 
anxious you were that it should be removed. And 
you did not keep your desire entirely to yourself. You 
asked and urged and pleaded that mother would take 
it off. Did she remove it when you first asked? I 
think there never was an instance yet. Did mother 
like to see you suffer ? Oh no. Didn't she know very 
well that the taking of that plaster away would make 
you very much more comfortable? Certainly. Then 
why did she keep it on until perhaps the tears flowed 
from your eyes and it seemed to you as though you 
just could not bear it? 

Do you understand the mystery of the mustard 
plaster? Perhaps you do ; and perhaps if I were talking 
with you, just you and I alone, quietly, you would 
have some good reasons in answer to my question why 



70 THE MUSTARD PLASTER 

mother did not remove it when you first begged her 
to. Did she not know you would be more comfortable 
with it off? Yes, more comfortable just then, but not 
more comfortable to-morrow. You see mother was 
thinking of to-morrow, and you could not think of 
anything except just that moment of pain; and when 
mother thought of to-morrow, she said : "No, my child, 
you must keep it on a while." Did she like to see you 
suffer ? No. Did she pity you ? Perhaps you remem- 
ber there were tears in her eyes. Do you remember 
the gentle touch of her dear hand upon your face as 
she said: "Bear it a little while"? 

Why did she keep it on? Because she knew that 
you were threatened with sickness, perhaps severe. 
She knew that in the lungs the blood vessels were en- 
larged and the streams of blood were flowing in, bring- 
ing what the doctors call a congestion there. And she 
knew that if the plaster were kept on long enough it 
would not only pull you, but it would draw the blood 
away from the lungs up to the skin and so relieve the 
lungs of their danger. And you remember how, when 
the plaster was taken off, the skin looked so red and 
rough, as though it wanted to cry too! It was to 
save you from serious illness that mother kept the 
plaster on and she knew very well that if she took it 
off too soon it would do no good. 

Now there is a great Father, the Father of us 
all, who sometimes puts us to pain. We don't like to 
be hurt any more when we are grown than when we 
are small, and we often ask Him to relieve us of the 
pain because it hurts. Does He always take away the 



THE MUSTARD PLASTER 



71 



stinging pain when we ask Him ? No. He says : "Be 
still, my child, wait a little." But He also says: "I 
know how it hurts." We feel the touch of His dear 
hand quieting us, and His voice strengthens us to bear 
it. Why does He keep us waiting and suffering? Be- 
cause He sees what we do not see, any more than you 
could see the congestion in your lungs, a great evil; 
some threatening danger that He wants to save us 
from. That is why sometimes He puts on His chil- 
dren the sharp, painful plaster of poverty and want, 
of loss and discouragement, of bereavement and bodily 
suffering. He has a great variety of plasters. He puts 
them on, and He keeps them on, and He lets us cry. 
He will not remove them until their good work is done, 
and that is because He loves us. 




A King and His Captive. 

NOW if my eyes can find my Plymouth children, 
I have a word for them. 

A great many years ago, a certain King, whose 
name was Cyrus, of whom you have read or will read 
in your school books, went to war with a country called 
Armenia, of which country you little people have per- 
haps heard. 

Cyrus was victorious in the war. And among the 
prisoners whom he took were the King of Armenia 
and his wife, the King's son, Tigranes, and his wife, 
and the children of both families. When these un- 
fortunate people found themselves captives in a strange 
land, their hearts were very sad indeed. 

Tigranes, the King's son, found his heaviest sor- 
row in the fact that his beloved wife was a captive. 
And when they came before Cyrus, the great King, 
Tigranes said to him that if Cyrus would only let his 
wife go back home, he might do what he pleased with 
him. Tigranes would gladly give up his life to set 
his wife free. Cyrus had a noble heart, though he was 
a great conqueror. He was very much touched by the 
behaviour of these captives, and particularly by the 
noble spirit of this man Tigranes. And so he gave 
them all their liberty and sent them home. 

And as they were going homeward, they were 
talking of their strange experience. One said: "What 



74 A KING AND HIS CAPTIVE 

did you think of Cyrus? Did you notice the majesty 
of his person, his kingly look?" And another said: 
"Did you see the glory of the Court? How splendid 
everything was ?" And so they went on talking about 
Cyrus and his Court and his Kingdom. 

The wife of Tigranes said nothing. And at length 
her husband asked her: "And what did you think of 
Cyrus?" "I did not see him," she said. "Did not see 
him! Why, where were your eyes?" "I saw no one," 
she said, "but him, who, for my sake and out of love 
to me, offered to lay down his life." I think her hus- 
band's heart must have been deeply touched when she 
said that. 

The story reminds me of One, who, for love of 
us all, laid down his life. Do you know, dear children, 
who it was who loved us and gave Himself for us? 
Could you speak His name now, quietly to yourselves ? 
Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. Don't forget this thing 
about Him. He loved us and gave Himself for us. He 
died for us all upon the Cross. Ought we not to think 
so much of Him that we shall almost forget other 
things, just as that noble wife did when she thought 
of her husband ? I believe that the people who live in 
Heaven, whom Christ has redeemed from this Earth, 
almost forget everybody else who is in Heaven, and 
Oh ! there's a splendid multitude there. I believe they 
are almost ready to say, with the wife of Tigranes, 
"We see no one, save Him who loved us and gave 
Himself for us." 

I want my dear Plymouth children to love Jesus 
Christ more than anybody else, not simply because He 
is so beautiful and so gracious and so kingly, but be- 
cause He loved us and gave Himself for us. 



The History of a Snow Ball. 

PERHAPS the Plymouth girls and boys will be 
glad to hear something this morning about the 
history of a snow ball. 

First, I want to speak of the material. Of what 
is the snow ball made? You are so familiar with the 
snow ball that you will easily answer that, of course; 
and perhaps — with a little surprise at the question — 
you will say to yourselves : "Why, it is made of snow, 
of course." Do you know what snow is? I wish you 
could examine a little of it under a microscope, as I 
have had the pleasure of doing now and again. You 
would have to take your microscope, to be sure, out of 
doors, lest the snow should melt before you could get 
a good look at it; but with the microscope in a cold 
place and just a little snow beneath the glass, you 
would see wonders. 

The snow is made entirely of crystals ; and I think 
you must have seen crystals in one form or another. 
These crystals are of very great variety. There are 
prisms and stars and pyramids in almost endless com- 
binations. More than a thousand different forms of 
snow crystals have been studied. They are combined 
sometimes in very curious ways. One of the Arctic 
explorers says that one morning he found the deck of 
his vessel covered to a depth of three inches with this 
peculiar and beautiful form of snow crystals, a prism 



76 THE HISTORY OF A SNOW BALL 

with stars set up in a circle on each end of it, very 
much like two wheels with an axle connecting them. 

But while there are so many varieties of the snow 
crystals, they are all under law. They have no police, 
to be sure, and no courts of justice and no jails; but 
they are all under law, and they never disobey God's 
commands. Their arrangement is always in sixes. 
The angles between the sides of the prisms are always 
at 60 degrees or some multiple thereof, and from that 
law of sixes they never depart. I wish all the girls and 
boys, and all the women and men, were as obedient 
as the snow crystals to the will of God. 

Now as to the source from which the snow ball 
comes: Why, you simply gathered up a handful and 
patted it a little and it was made — and the snow ball 
came from the snow bank, of course. But where did 
the snow come from ? Do you know about that ? It 
has come a long way to gratify you ; a long, long jour- 
ney it has taken. 

The material of it, before it was snow, was vapor, 
moisture in the air in a very thin form. But whence 
came the vapor? Before it was in the sky in vapor 
form, the material of your snow ball was in the ocean, 
not as snow but as water. It was the top part, the top 
crust may we say, of the ocean. Well, how did it come 
from the ocean two thousand miles away to fall upon 
us in Denver? It is a very wonderful story. By the 
power of heat from His great and wonderful Sun, God 
drew the moisture from the sea up, up, up miles high 
and spread it out in the thin, graceful clouds that we 
see gathering like a veil over head when we say : "It's 



THE HISTORY OF A SNOW BALL 77 

going to snow." And then the clouds containing the 
moisture came closer and closer together until by and 
by the weight of it caused it to fall; and as it came 
down through the sky, God crystallized it and so you 
and I have had it to look at and to make snow balls 
of. How wonderful is the story of the snow ball ! But 
the story isn't quite complete yet. 

I have been speaking of what might be called the 
physical history of the snow ball. How about it's 
moral history ? Can a snow ball have a moral history ? 
I think it can. Perhaps you don't quite know what I 
mean by that. Well, moral history is that into which 
right or wrong enters. Now, can right or wrong enter 
into a snow ball ? Yes, a boy can put it in. 

A snow ball is made of something besides 
snow. It is made of snow and boyishness. Now 
there are excellent boy qualities that sometimes get 
into a snow ball, but sometimes there are bad qualities 
too; and I want to ask the Plymouth boys not to put 
anything bad into their snow balls. What is there bad 
which a boy could put into a snow ball ? Unkindness. 

I like to see a rollicking snow balling and used to 
enjoy it very much myself. I shall never forget the 
snow forts we used to build and the great heaps of 
ammunition we made, snow balls prepared over night. 
How we did enjoy it! And what a battle we used to 
have when the other fellows would try to get into our 
fort! It was great fun; there was no malice in it. 
Snow balling is all right, except when you put unkind- 
ness into the snow ball. I mean by that (I want to 
speak plainly to you), when you throw a snow ball in 



78 



THE HISTORY OF A SNOW BALL 



such a way that it becomes an unkind act. Sometimes 
boys throw snow balls at a passing team and that causes 
a runaway. Now there was unkindness in that snow 
ball, and it never ought to have been put in. Some- 
times boys throw snow balls at persons passing on 
the street; an act of which a gentlemanly boy would 
be ashamed. Don't put any badness into your snow 
balls, any unkindness : all the fun you like, for fun and 
snow mix finely. I think God meant them to go to- 
gether. 




The Blind Old Horse. 

I WONDER if horses sometimes know more than 
men! There was once an old blind horse who 
was turned into a pasture that had a fence all around 
it. He wondered where he was, and went wandering 
about to find out. Pretty soon he came to the fence, 
and ran against it. Walking in another direction and 
then in still another, he had the same experience each 
time. He concluded that he was fenced in; that he 
had just so much liberty and no more. But that didn't 
trouble him, he just went on cropping the sweet, fresh 
grass : turning in a new direction whenever he came to 
the fence. And wherever he went he found plenty to 
eat. It never occurred to him to find fault. He had 
all that he needed — why should he? 

But many people are not wise as the old horse; 
they find they can only go so far: they come to the 
fence. And instead of being content with such things 
as they have, they grumble and are never happy. Yet, 
they really have all that they need. 

It isn't having a good many things that makes 
people happy. Anybody who is always wanting more 
is never happy. 

There was the boy whose Father gave him a fine 
wagon, painted blue, with a stout horse in the shafts: 
a splendid Christmas gift. He was very happy until 
one day he saw a wagon that was red. And his was 



80 THE BLIND OLD HORSE 

only blue! If only he had a red wagon! And the 
boy with the red cart saw the one that was blue : and 
he couldn't be happy any more because his was only 
red! 

I knew a little girl who had only a poor rag doll : 
and she was happy with it all day long. And I knew 
a girl who had six wax dolls: and she was unhappy 
because she wanted seven. 

That is covetousness, to be always wanting more. 
And covetousness is always unhappy. 

But the covetous people are not always children. 

There was a woman who lived in a neat, pretty 
cottage, with vines growing over the porch. She had 
all the room she needed, and plenty of comfort. But 
she began to envy her neighbor who had a bigger 
house. She fussed and fretted about it. She told her 
husband that she never could be happy in such a little 
bit of a house : that it was a shame not to have a fine 
house like their neighbor's This made her husband 
unhappy, too. He knew he could not afford a larger 
house; but he thought about it and thought about it, 
until one dreadful day he began to take money that 
did not belong to him. He took more and more ; and 
at length built a fine house with what he had stolen. 

And were they happy then, in the big fine house — 
this woman and her husband? O no! They were 
miserable. If you want to know the rest of the story 
and how it turned out, you must ask your Father to 
tell you at home. 

People often do wrong that they may get more 
things: things to eat, things to wear, things to play 



THE BLIND OLD HORSE 8l 

with. Boys sometimes steal that they may buy toys. 
Men get into debt that they may live in what people call 
style. They make themselves miserable in trying to 
get what does not belong to them. And all the while 
they are neglecting the very things that God has given 
to make them happy. 

How foolish the old horse would have been to let 
the sweet grass go uncropped, while he did nothing 
but bunt the fence ! 

Here is a good text for us: "Let your life be 
without covetousness, and be content with such things 
as ye have." 




The Little Queen. 

IT is one of my great pleasures as we come into this 
new church to find the children here. I have had 
to search them out in these new pews ! It has been a 
great delight to see their faces here and there, and now 
I must have the Pastor's word with them. 

Your fathers and mothers have been talking of late 
about a meeting that is to be held just now in Holland. 
If you will ask your parents when you get home, they 
will tell you that some time ago, the Czar of Russia 
sent a proclamation to the different nations of Christen- 
dom, calling a meeting of representatives of all these 
great peoples to take some means to do away with war. 
And it is this meeting which is now being held in the 
Hague, a meeting of the representatives of the great 
nations of Christendom for the promotion of peace in 
this world. 

I want to tell you, children, a beautiful thing that 
happened a while ago when the Queen of Holland, who 
took her throne only a year or two since, was a girl. 
She was really Queen of Holland, but she was too 
young to govern, and so her mother was made Queen 
Regent; that is to say, the mother, who was called 
Queen Regent Emma, was the real Governor of State 
until the little girl should be grown. 

I suppose that the young Queen Wilhelmena got a 
little proud sometimes, because everybody was remind- 



84 THE LITTLE QUEEN 

ing her that she was really the Queen and that by and 
by she would sit on the throne and govern Holland. 
It is natural enough for girls who are Queens to be 
a little set up, I suppose; to get proud and conceited. 

One day the little Wilhelmena went to the door of 
her mother's room, where the Queen Regent Emma 
was sitting at her desk. The door was closed. Wil- 
helmena tapped. "Who is it?" said her mother. "It 
is the Queen of the Netherlands," said the little girl: 
"May she come in?" and there was no answer. Then 
she tapped again and her mother said, "Who is it?" 
"It is Wilhelmena of Holland. May she come in?" 
and there was no answer. And then once more she 
said, in a timid voice, "May I come in?" "Who is it?" 
said Queen Regent Emma. "It is mother's little girl." 
"Mother's little girl may come in," Emma said, and the 
door flew open and the little girl ran in and fell into 
her mother's extended arms. When she was proud 
and full of conceit and remembered how the servants 
had been telling her that she was the Queen of the 
Netherlands and Wilhelmena of Holland, she couldn't 
come in; but when she got down to her own proper 
place and said, "I'm mother's little girl," then she could 
come in. 

Do you think of any text that we ought to have 
for this children's sermon? I have one, the very first 
words of the Lord's Prayer ; "When ye pray, say Our 
Father." 

Perhaps a man who is very, very rich might be 
tempted sometimes to knock at God's door and say: 
"Oh Lord God, I am the great millionaire. May I 



THE LITTLE QUEEN 85 

speak with Thee ?" There's no answer to him. Some- 
times a man who is a Congressman, or a Governor, or 
a President, might be inclined to knock at God's door 
and say : "Oh Thou great God, I am a high official in 
the City, or the State, or the Nation. I would speak 
with Thee." There's no answer. 

But when any man, conscious of his need and his 
weakness and his sinfulness, comes and knocks at God's 
door and says: "Oh God, I am Thy child!" then 
God's door opens and God's arms are flung out and 
there's a place for that man enfolded upon God's bosom. 

Dear children, don't let us get proud. I suppose 
they don't think any more of a man in Heaven because 
he's rich or because he has obtained a high station 
here. And certainly when a man's head is lifted up 
and he thinks he's nearly as tall as the stars, he isn't 
likely to get much of an answer from God. But when 
we say to God : "Father, we are Thy children," then 
God's door opens, God's arms are thrown out and God 
draws us to His heart. 




The Sunny Side and the Dark Side. 

1WAS thinking this morning, dear children, of the 
difference between the sunny side and the dark 
side. I was up quite early, and am sorry for those of 
you who missed the beauty of a glorious morning. 

I went first to the shady side of my house. The 
wind was coming from the Northwest, over the snowy 
fields of the mountain region, and I felt a sense of 
chill and gloom. But when I went to the other 
side of the house I found it very warm and genial, for 
the sun coming up out of his chambers was shining 
there and there was no wind blowing. 

I think, children, that most things in this world 
have a sunny side and almost everything has a dark 
side. I suppose there is a sunny side even to going 
to the dentist's. There was a man who had to go there 
and he stayed on the dark side of it for quite 
a while, thinking how much he must suffer. But it 
occurred to him to get on the sunny side of the matter ; 
so he thought how much better it would be for his 
health and his comfort, and then he was quite ready 
to go. And afterwards he laughed to think how little 
it hurt him, after all ! 

I suppose there's a sunny side to going to school ; 
and I know there's a shady side, especially when it 
comes to be the first of June. We always do hate to 
go to school when it's almost vacation time, don't we ? 



88 THE SUNNY SIDE AND THE DARK SIDE 

It's so hard, the lessons are so long and the outer 
world is so bright! But dear children, suppose you 
just get around to the sunny side of it and stop to 
think that you're learning something each day, if you 
are faithful, that will help you to be better and stronger 
and wiser, more useful men and women. That's the 
sunny side of it; and it will help you to feel more 
like going. 

I knew a man once who made the acquaintance of 
a neighbor, and thought that he was a very shady sort 
of a man ; particularly because his neighbor didn't rec- 
ognize him sometimes. But he went around to the 
sunny side of the neighbor and found that he was 
near sighted; and more than that, that he had a very 
kind heart. It all lay in getting around to the sunny 
side, you see. 

And I take it there's a shady and a sunny side to 
ourselves. Some times we look at the dark side of 
ourselves and see what mistakes we make and how 
naughty we are, and we get discouraged and are about 
ready to give up. But suppose we just get around on 
to the sunny side where the love of God is shining 
upon us and where His beams glow with warmth ; and 
then we shall begin to think differently even of our- 
selves, and we shall get new comfort and heart to try 
again. 

Dear girls and boys, let us determine that we will 
try to find the bright side ; of ourselves, of the people 
we know, and of the great world. When it is dark, 
there is always some place where the sun is shining; 
and where it is bright and cheery and warm. Let us 
send our minds there even if we can't go ourselves ! 



The Bottle that Couldn't Be Filled. 

I AM sure the children of Plymouth are particularly 
glad when they see the Pastor rise with something 
in his hands. For children always like to have some- 
thing to see, as well as to hear. 

I hold in my hands two bottles, as you can easily 
see ; and we will undertake to fill them with water from 
this pitcher. This one I fill very easily. There is no 
trouble about it at all. Now we will try the other. I 
have poured out plenty of water ; let us see if the bot- 
tle is full. No, there's nothing in it. What is the 
trouble? The water was perfectly willing to go into 
this bottle; it had no prejudice against this as com- 
pared with the other. This bottle, too, is a larger one 
and there's more room in it to hold the water than 
there is in that; and yet that one I filled very easily 
and this one I don't get a bit into. 

Let me try once more. We will hold them up to- 
gether side by side so that the same pouring will cover 
the mouth of each bottle. Now let us see how they have 
fared. The little one, again, is full of water. Let us 
see the other. There's nothing in it at all, is there ? 

Now we'll try another way. I'm going to put the 
mouth of each bottle down under the water in the 
pitcher and see if we can't get that stubborn bottle 
filled. Here is the little one, filled very easily, as be- 
fore. Now we'll try this larger one. Let us see if 



90 THE BOTTLE THAT COULDN T BE FILLED 

we had any better success. No, there's not a bit of 
water in it ! What is the reason ? The water was will- 
ing and there was plenty of room: but not a drop 
got in. Why ? "It has a cork in it." Oh, yes. That 
explains it. This one had a cork in all the while! 
We will just take the cork out and see if there's any 
trouble about filling it. Now see! I have it full and 
overflowing. 

The only difference, then, in the two cases was 
that one bottle had a stopper in it and the other one was 
without a stopper; and the water couldn't go in to 
fill the bottle that had its mouth closed ; that is to say, 
that had the stopper in. 

Doesn't it make you think how children will some- 
times go to the same school together, have the same 
teachers and use the same books : and yet some of them 
become good scholars while others learn nothing? Per- 
haps some of them never take the stoppers out! And 
then of course they can't get anything into their heads. 
But do you think it is the teacher's fault? Be sure to 
take the stoppers out when you go to school! Open 
your minds, or you will get nothing into them. 

People sometimes go to church, too, and sit side 
by side, hearing the same things ; yet they speak very 
differently about the service. One will say, "It did 
me lots of good. I got light and comfort and strength :" 
while another says, "That is strange ! I heard all that 
you heard, — but I got no blessing at all." What makes 
the difference, children? Here is a text that explains 
it. You can read it for yourselves at home, from the 
first chapter of Luke, the 53rd verse : "He hath filled 



THE BOTTLE THAT COULDN T BE FILLED 9 1 

the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath 
sent empty away." This does not mean the people 
who had a great deal of money, but those who were 
not hungry for God's blessing. Two people may have 
the same food before them at the table : yet one enjoys 
the meal and the other does not. That is because one 
has an appetite and the other has not. 

Even the great and good God cannot give a bless- 
ing to any one who closes his eyes and his ears and 
his heart against Him. We may go to church with our 
hearts shut up. We may even pray with stoppers 
in! And then we get no blessing. The water pours 
from the fountain freely. God is eager to give us 
rich gifts ! But it is only the hungry-hearted who are 
filled. 

Remember, dear children! The bottle that had 
the most need got nothing, because its mouth was not 
open. God says : "Open the mouth and I will fill it." 




^This Has Been Plastered." 



I THINK it must have been the springing of the 
grass which gave me the children's message for 
this morning; and perhaps the green, bright freshness 
of the lawns will recall the lesson to their minds. 

Benjamin Franklin learned that plaster sown in 
the fields would make things grow. He told his neigh- 
bors; but they did not believe him and they argued 
with him to prove that plaster could be of no use at 
all to grass or grain. 

After a little he allowed the matter to drop and 
said no more about it. But he went into the field 
early the next spring and sowed some grain. Close by 
the path, where men would walk, he traced some let- 
ters with his finger and put plaster into them and 
then sowed his seed broadcast in the field. 

After a week or two the grain sprang up. His 
neighbors, as they passed that way, were very much 
surprised to see, in brighter green than all the rest of 
the field, the writing in large letters "This has been 
plastered." Benjamin Franklin did not need to argue 
with his neighbors any more about the benefit of plas- 
ter for the fields. For as the season went on and the 
grain grew, these bright, green lettters just rose up 
above all the rest until they were a kind of relief -plate 
in the field, — "This has been plastered." 



94 THIS HAS BEEN PLASTERED. 

I think that Jesus Christ wants to write upon our 
hearts and lives these words: "These people are 
Christians/' Do you know, children, a good many peo- 
ple profess to believe that there is no virtue in the 
teachings of Christ; that the gospel is of little value? 
They are ready to argue about it ; and we might argue 
with them a long time to no purpose. But if we will 
let Christ with His finger write upon our hearts just 
as He will, then when our lives show the new growth 
under the power of His grace, people will read in us 
(not in a printed book, though it be the Bible itself, 
but in us), "This is Christianity." And if they see 
that we are patient and gentle and unselfish, kind and 
thoughtful and pure, that we never speak words of 
untruth or ungraciousness, that we do not live to 
please ourselves chiefly, — they will notice the great 
difference between the rest of the human field and 
our lives, and they will say: "These people are truly 
Christians." They will never find any argument 
against Christianity when it is shown in our lives, you 
may be very sure. 

I want to ask the girls and boys here whether or 
not they have given their hearts and lives to Christ 
that He may write upon them, that He may make them 
beautiful and that He may give them the privilege 
of witnessing for Him. 



A Quarrel at Marbles and What 
Stopped It. 

I REM EMBER that when a lad the first tokens of 
Spring always made me think of a game of which 
I was very fond, — the game of marbles. 

Boys of all generations are just alike. No one 
can pass on a Spring day along any sidewalk that is 
digable without seeing boys at marbles; the same 
marked line, a circle or a crack in the soil; the same 
making of little holes; the same marbles, — I think 
they must be identically the same with which I used 
to play ! the boys' faces shining as they used to shine 
when I was one of them. The whole of childhood 
comes back again to us whenever we see it. 

I would like to tell the Plymouth children of 
something that once happened in connection with a 
game of marbles. It was played close under the win- 
dows of the home ; and by the second story window, 
which was open because the day was balmy and bright, 
sat the mother of the children. That mother had a 
peculiar way of breaking up her children's quarrels. 
Perhaps some mother here would like to know what 
her plan was. She almost always succeeded, if she 
was near enough, in making them ashamed of them- 
selves when they began to quarrel; and that by a 
single word. 



96 A QUARREL AT MARBLES, AND WHAT STOPPED IT 

Well, as the game went on, the mother, sitting at 
the window, heard one boy say : "You cheated." The 
other boy said : "I didn't." "You did" was the reply. 
And then the mother came into the game ! The advice 
was new to them. She said: "Sing it, children, sing 
it." And while they were yet looking a little queer, 
there poured out from the window a voice which was, 
I am sure, as sweet as an angel's. I wonder if I dare 
try it! I know what the tune was. "Oh Willie, you 
cheated! Oh Willie, you cheated! Oh Willie, you 
cheated ! but I didn't cheat you." The quarreling stop- 
ped. "Sing it, boys," she said again. They couldn't sing 
it. When they looked into each other's faces, they 
smiled; they looked ashamed, and they felt ashamed, 
and they stopped quarreling. 

You know, girls and boys, there are some things 
we can't sing. There are some things that are not 
singable. When you are angry, you can't sing your 
anger. Just try some time to sing a threat and tell 
that other boy what you are going to do to him ! You 
can't do it; and things which we can't sing are some- 
times, perhaps, most always, better not said. 

I hope the girls and boys of Plymouth will try 
this little plan when they are inclined to have a quar- 
rel over a game of marbles or over their dolls or over 
anything. When you are wanting to speak some bitter, 
ugly, accusing, sharp word, just sing it; sing it! 



Flower and Fruit— An Easter 
Lesson. 

THIS orange plant is the children's text this morn- 
ing. It speaks to their eyes. 

Dear children, there was once a little plant to 
which God gave a beautiful blossom. It was very- 
small at first, a tiny little green bud. But it grew 
larger and brighter, and by and by the binding petals 
burst open, the beautiful whiteness appeared, and it 
was at length an open blossom, not only beautiful but 
very fragrant; the orange blossom. 

We can almost think that the mother plant had 
something of a mother's pride and gladness as she 
watched this beautiful blossom. But after a few days 
it began to fade. The petals drooped, one by one, 
until at length they hung limp by the side of the stalk. 
The fragrance was less and less, and by and by the 
petals fell away and the flower was gone. 

One might almost think that the plant was sad, 
because it had lost its beautiful blossom. But after 
a while the mother plant began to notice that where 
the blossom had been there was something still remain- 
ing, a little green thing; at first very tiny and dark 
and unpromising, but it grew in size and lightness of 
color more and more. The plant wondered what it 
would come to ; and at length it was satisfied that the 
flower had left behind it a fruit. 



98 FLOWER AND FRUIT — AN EASTER LESSON 

You can see perhaps, children, that on this little 
orange tree which I have there are blossoms, three 
buds and an open flower, and then the fruit itself; 
not very large, but a true orange evidently. 

You see God had some further thought for the 
plant than that it should bear a blossom; and it was 
all a part of God's plan that the blossom should fade 
and pass away. There was nothing sad about it, be- 
cause out of the fading of the flower was to come 
fruit; and a fruit is better than a flower. 

If you will notice the next time you have an orange 
at home, you will see the sides of the cradle still at- 
tached to the baby — a queer thing! Just here where 
the stem of the orange is, you will see a part of the 
calyx (a word which means a cup). The calyx was 
the flower's cradle, where the fruit was nourished. 

Why do I speak to you of this to-day, particularly 
this Easter Day, children ? Oh ! For this reason : God 
sends a little, beautiful life to a mother in one home 
and in another and in a great many homes. The life 
at first is a little bud. It grows in beauty and in sweet- 
ness; it opens up like a flower; and the mother is so 
glad and so proud. But after a while that little life 
seems to lose its strength and its beauty; it droops 
and withers and is gone. 

Now it seems a great pity, and the mother says: 
"Oh, I have lost my child." But when the child dies, 
as we say, it simply means that the flower droops and 
falls, while out of the blossom of this earlier life, God 
brings a larger life, richer far. 



FLOWER AND FRUIT — AN EASTER LESSON 99 

After the flower comes the fruit. This beautiful 
life of ours is meant to be the cradle of a larger life 
and a brighter. And when the petals fall and the 
flower is gone, we must simply say : "God has brought 
out of the fading flower, the riper and richer fruit 
of a nobler life." 

This is the message to the dear children to-day. 
By and by you know, children, you will die, each one 
of you; but I don't want you to think of your death 
as the end of your life. If your present earthly life 
is faithfully lived, then it will be like the flower of 
which the fruit is formed. And when people say of 
you: "Willie is dead" or "Mary is dead," the angels 
will be saying: "Out of the flower, in the new and 
better land, God is bringing the perfect fruit." And 
the fruit is more than the flower, always. 




The Dandelion Flower. 

I HAVE brought a text from the church lawn this 
morning for the Plymouth children : two dandelion 
flowers, one in gold, the other in gray. 

They are plentiful just now, everywhere. And 
are they not beautiful! I suppose some people who 
now despise them because they are common, would 
pay a good deal to import them for their greenhouses, 
if they were rare and costly. 

Did you ever ask a dandelion flower to tell you 
why it grows, and what its business is? Perhaps it 
would tell you if you asked! It is a great thing to 
learn to ask questions of everything about us. But 
we have to know how to listen if we are to hear what 
they say. 

I asked these golden stars on the lawn the other 
day why God had been busy making them grow all 
these weeks of Spring. And as I listened I heard 
them say: "It was that we might be beautiful: for 
God loves to have things beautiful." But some of the 
dandelions had turned flossy and gray, like this one 
which you see. And they had something else to say: 
"God made us grow that we might have something 
to give away." 

Then I noticed just this difference between the 
two : the golden flowers are holding their yellow petals 
fast, clinging tightly to each one of them, lest they 



102 THE DANDELION FLOWER 

should lose one : but the gray heads give up their glory, 
Oh! so easily. See! now, as I blow, this dear flower 
lets go every petal, as though that was just what it 
had been growing them for! That is the difference 
between the imperfect flower and the ripened flower. 
It is the imperfect one that is satisfied just to be beau- 
tiful. But the perfect flower gives its very best away. 
And so it helps to brighten the world for another 
summer. 

If you look carefully at one of these silvery flowers 
on the lawn, you will see God's plan. Each flower He 
meant to be a mother : and the children are tiny seeds. 
Each seed is fastened to a "little fairy parachute," such 
as you see the baloonist use in his descent. And| 
under the magnifying glass you can see that each para- 
chute handle is barbed, so that it will cling wherever it 
falls. This gives the seed a chance to catch on the 
ground and to make a nest for itself. See, now, how 
these little parachutes sail away as I blow: each car- 
rying with it a seed, ready for business ! 

In the 1 2th chapter of the Acts you will find a 
story about Herod : how he persecuted the church, kill- 
ing one of the Apostles and putting Peter in prison. 
But in the 24th verse we read these strange words: 
"But the word of God grew and multiplied." You 
see Herod's thought. He would blow fiercely upon 
the little plant, God's church, and destroy it: just 
as the North wind comes swooping down upon the 
dandelion flowers! But see!— the blowing only scat- 
ters the seed to make new flowers everywhere. Herod's 



THE DANDELION FLOWER 



103 



persecution only scattered the seed of truth. God used 
it to make the church grow. 

The dear flowers need not be afraid of the winds 
that blow. The flowers prepare the seeds, which are 
God's messages of beauty and of love. And the winds, 
though they blow sometimes cold and strong, carry 
these messages far and wide. 

He who makes the flowers and the ripened seed 
makes the winds also. And they all work His will 
together. 




Giving a Man Another Chance. 

IF some of the children who are here this morning 
have never heard of Sir Charles Napier, they have 
yet to learn of one of the most distinguished of Eng- 
lish soldiers and commanders. I want to tell you, 
children, this morning, of a very beautiful thing that 
occurred in connection with one of his great battles. 

Perhaps you do not know that it is a law of war 
that when a soldier, through fright, breaks from the 
line and attempts to run away in battle, his life is 
forfeited. It is the universal law of war that such a 
man shall be shot. 

In one of the great battles in which Napier was 
commanding, one of the British soldiers was over- 
come by fear; Now it is easy enough for us to say 
that a man ought not to be a coward ; but when a man 
finds himself facing a line of men, each with a rifle, 
when he finds himself ordered to charge across an 
open space which is covered by the fire of a score or 
two of cannon, or when he finds that he can only 
stand still and await the charge of a regiment of cav- 
alry or a brigade or two of infantry, with bayonets 
fixed, — it's no wonder if his heart quakes ; and it's noth- 
ing strange if, having an opportunity, he runs. 

Well, this poor fellow's heart quaked and he saw 
a chance to drop out of the line and run for the rear. 
So he started; but he was caught by some of his 



106 GIVING A MAN ANOTHER CHANCE 

fellow soldiers and they were about to shoot him. 
Just then Napier came up. The battle was already 
won at that time, so that the great General had an op- 
portunity to stop and consider the case. The soldiers 
told him about this poor fellow who was running away 
and that they were going to shoot him. "No/' said 
the General, "Give him another chance." And he or- 
dered that when the fight began again, this man should 
be put in the front rank to have an opportunity to 
retrieve his good name and show that, after all, at 
heart he was a brave man and a loyal soldier. And 
so he proved himself to be, not only in that battle 
but ever after. 

With all the success and glory of Sir Charles 
Napier in his military campaigns, I know of no inci- 
dent that touches my heart and wins my admiration 
more than this act. To give a man who has forfeited 
everything another chance! It was a beautiful thing. 

I wonder if in this connection you are thinking, 
children, of what I read about Peter. You know that 
Peter, after having parted from his Master at the time 
of his arrest, followed afar off and went up into the 
High Priest's Court, wishing to see what would take 
place. As one and another and another recognized 
him as having been one of Christ's followers, Peter's 
heart failed; and though he did really love Jesus, he 
broke down in a collapse and denied that he was one 
of his disciples. And at length, when charged with 
it again, he even used an oath and said, "I do not 
know the man." What a dreadful and shameful fall 
that was! And what did it deserve? Would you 



GIVING A MAN ANOTHER CHANCE IO7 

think that Jesus would ever have such a man among 
his disciples again, and in the circle of his intimate 
friends? But remember how Jesus did treat him. 

Afterwards, when Jesus found his disciples on 
the shore and they had eaten together, Jesus recalled 
all this to Peter by that three- fold question: "Peter, 
lovest thou me?" And then he gave him another 
chance. He did not condemn, He did not banish him 
from fellowship and hope, but He said : "Peter, go feed 
My lambs, take care of My sheep, take up My work 
again." And so He gave Peter another chance. 

Do you know, children, I think the reason why 
that story of Peter and the Christ has always been 
very fascinating is just for this reason: it tells us 
that when any of us fail, when we do a thing of which 
we are ashamed and which we know deserves con- 
demnation, Jesus does not condemn us, He does not 
cut us off from hope ; but He gives us another chance. 

Perhaps there are some poor hearts here this 
morning that know they have failed during the past 
week ; they know they ought to be condemned. Well, 
dear friends, Jesus, the great Captain of our salvation, 
gives you another chance. He says: "Take up your 
work again in my name and I will help you." What 
a blessed Christ He is! 



"As a Hen Gathereth Her Chickens." 

THERE was once a hen who lived in a barnyard 
with her brood of ten little chickens; each of 
them a fuzzy yellow ball with two black beads in its 
head, which I suppose were it's eyes. These chicks 
were just learning to manage their long, black legs; 
and they waddled about in the big yard, looking for 
something. The old mother hen was very fond of 
her little ones, and proud of them too, awkward as 
they were. Of course she was, — being a mother ! She 
spent most of her time scratching in the dirt ; not that 
she was a miner, looking for gold ; or hungry, search- 
ing for food. But she was all the time thinking of her 
little ones, and she knew they needed a great deal of 
food to make them grow. What a sight she was, — 
digging away all day long with not even a dinner 
pail and an hour at noon for herself ! At almost every 
scratch in the earth she seemed to find something. 
But I never saw her take it for herself! She always 
called "cluck, cluck !" to her chickies, and they came 
running as fast as their legs could bring them. Some- 
times one of them would flap his wings too, as though 
he would run and fly, both! I always like to watch 
the mother hen and her brood. It is hard to tell 
which is the happier! I love to remember that Jesus 
was interested in the same sight. Can the children 
tell how we know that? Of course Jesus noticed the 



IIO AS A HEN GATHERETH HER CHICKENS 

hen and her chickens; or He would not have talked 
about them. Do all these children know what He said 
of them? 

Which do you like best, children, the dear mother 
hen who is always clucking to her chickens to come 
and enjoy what she has found, or the dog who lives 
on the same street, who, when he finds a bone, grabs 
it and runs growling to a corner where he can hide 
and gnaw it alone? 

I have seen both kinds of children too ; some who, 
when they have something nice, cluck to the other boys 
and girls to come and share it; and some who hide 
away to devour it by themselves alone. I know which 
of them is happier ! And I know which of them I like 
best! Do you know? 




Heaven. 

JOURNEYING the other day from Boston to Den- 
ver, I noticed in the car two boys. They were 
talking together: and I heard one of them ask the 
other, "Where are you going ?" "O, — out West !" was 
the answer. And I was sure that the boy had no 
idea where "out West" was: whether it was a large 
place or a small place, or how he was going to get to it. 
But he evidently wasn't troubling himself about 
it! And I didn't wonder, when I heard him tell the 
rest of the story. His father had been "out West," 
wherever that was, and had been making there a new 
home for the family. And now he had gone back to 
Massachusetts, where they had been living, and was 
taking the family with him to the new home "out 
West." There he sat, in the next seat to the boy, with 
his family about him. He looked as though he could 
take good care of them all. So the boy had nothing 
to fear or to worry about. He was just giving him- 
self up to the pleasures of the journey: leaving his 
father to attend to all the business of it. He was wise, 
wasn't he? And how perfectly foolish he would have 
been to fret and fear just because he didn't even know 
where "out West" was, much less how to get there. 
His father knew; that was enough. His father had 
already prepared the new home, and now he was bring- 
ing them all to be with him there. 



112 HEAVEN. 

The other boy asked him once, "But where is 
the place?" And he simply said, "O, I don't know: 
papa's got a house out there for us." 

It made me think of a beautiful text: the words 
of Jesus to his disciples. It is in the 14th chapter of 
the Gospel of John. Hear it ! "I go to prepare a place 
for you: and if I go and prepare a place for you, I 
will come again and receive you unto myself: that 
where I am there ye may be also." Jesus has gone 
to prepare a new home for his children. It will surely 
be a very beautiful home, for he himself will live in 
it: and we may be sure that he will have everything 
beautiful about him. And he will make it beautiful, 
too, for those he loves. 

We sometimes wonder where the new home will 
be. People often ask, "Where is heaven?" Nobody 
can tell us. I suppose that is because God's universe 
is so very great, and we know so little: just as the 
little fellow did not know where "out West" was be- 
cause it is so big, and he was only a little boy. But 
we need not be a bit troubled, if we do not know. 
Jesus knows. He has "prepared" the place on purpose 
for us. He has promised to come for us Himself, when 
he is ready for us. If angels were to come, we might 
be a little afraid : for the angels mightn't know us, or 
know just how to take care of us. They might want 
to go faster than we could ! But if He comes, it will 
be all right. He knows just where to find us. He 
knows the way to the new home, and he will keep 
close to us as we go. So we have nothing to fear. 



HEAVEN. 



"3 



Are you not glad that Jesus loves us so much that 
He wants us to be with Him, where He is ? That was 
the way with the boy's father, you see. He was eager 
to have all his family with him in the new home. It 
wouldn't be home without them! So he was sure to 
make just the best home for them he could: and there 
was no danger that he would forget to go for them. 

Heaven is God's home, dear children. And it is 
to be our home, too, if we love Him. He is not sat- 
isfied to live without His dear children. He wants them 
with Him. So He will surely come for us when we 
are ready for the new home. And we need not fear to 
go. He will carry us all the way. 




How the Tram Car Gets Up 
the Hill. 



I WOULD like to know how many of the Plymouth 
children have ridden on the street cars this week. 
Let me see their hands. The Tramway Company has 
been doing well, I'm sure! How many of the boys 
and girls have ever taken a ride on the street cars? 
Let me see your hands. Oh, I want to see them. Lift 
them up. They're good looking hands. Thank you. 

Well, you know a good deal had to be done be- 
fore you and I could enjoy the charm of a street car 
ride. Some of you noticed the preparation for the 
new track up and down Colfax Avenue. You re- 
member how we saw the men digging, digging, dig- 
ging; and after a while the complete foundation was 
put in and then the timbers were laid. Then the rails 
were put down and the road bed finished. When we 
are slipping along so easily, it would be well for us 
to remember that a good many men have had to do 
a great deal of thinking and a good deal of hard work 
that we might have our privilege. 

How did they make the street railways? They 
simply laid the rails, firmly fixed, made the cars and 
put them on the rails, — and it's all aboard for a ride. 
That's the whole of it, isn't it? It is easy just to step 
aboard the car. And there's no clatter and scramble 



Il6 HOW THE TRAM CAR GETS UP THE HILL 

of the horses' hoofs as there used to be when we had 
horse-cars. I am so glad that the poor horses are 
spared the misery! 

But suppose, girls and boys, that when the track 
has been laid and the cars made, you and I take our 
seats in the car to enjoy a ride. The brakes are off, 
the car begins to move and we slip along very finely 
and easily down the slight grade. But by and by the 
car stops. What is the trouble? Why, we have come 
to the foot of a hill. How are we going to get up that 
hill? Here are the rails, beautifully laid, and the car 
is perfectly made. Everything seems to be ready, but 
the car doesn't move. How are we going to get up the 
hill? Oh, we have forgotten one thing, haven't we? 
There has to be something overhead as well as beneath 
the car. Not only the rails and track, but that mys- 
terious wire is necessary. But suppose the wire were 
there. Would that move the car? No. There's one 
thing more needful. The car must send up that funny 
looking pole from the top of its back, until it touches 
the wire. That wire is full of the power which we 
call electricity; and as soon as it is turned on to the 
motor under the car, the wheels begin to revolve and 
up we go easily enough, steadily up a pretty steep 
hill. 

Now we are just ready for the text, and we find 
it in the 27th Chapter of Isaiah, in the 5th verse. "Let 
him take hold of my strength." Can you remember 
that? It is short. "Let him take hold of my strength." 

What are the rails for in the street ? They are 
to make it easy and safe for the car to run. If the 



HOW THE TRAM CAR GETS UP THE HILL 117 

car were to run over cobble stones or pavement, it 
would tear itself to pieces after a while, besides doing 
damage to the sidewalks and carriages and people. 
And so the rails are put down to show the car where 
to run. But the rails can never make the car run. 
It takes power to do that, and the power comes from 
above. 

Now we need, you and I, in order that we may 
live safely and smoothly, to know how we ought to 
live. A good many people have made rules that tell us 
how we ought to behave in the home, in the school 
and in business, and in all our living. There are the 
Ten Commandments, God's rules laid down to tell 
us how we ought to live. But suppose we come to the 
foot of a hill and we find that although the rails run 
right up the hill and we well know where we ought 
to g°> y et we cannot get up. We lack power to do 
it. Did you ever come to such a hill, girls and boys? 
I think so. 

It is easy to do some things and we think "Oh, 
what good girls and boys we are." But by and by there 
is something asked of us which we ought to do and 
somehow we don't find it easy. We have reached the 
foot of the hill. Now we have to get power somehow 
to climb that hill. The power is above us, and God 
says, "Reach up and take hold of my strength, that 
I may help you up the hill. I will give you power 
to do it." 

So the good God, who has laid down the rails of 
the commandments to tell us how we ought to live, 
is Himself near to give us power that we may live as 



n8 



HOW THE TRAM CAR GETS UP THE HILL 



we ought. And it is for us to reach up our arm for 
this mysterious power just above us, — to take hold of 
God's strength. Do you know the name of that arm 
by which the soul reaches up to take hold of God's 
strength ? It is prayer ; for by prayer we take hold of 
God's strength, to help us up the hills in life. 




A Monkey and a Man. 

IN the city of Manchester, England, there is a mena- 
gerie. One of the interesting things in it is a col- 
lection of monkeys. They live in a row of cages, with 
only thin partitions between. 

When the monkeys are fed, something happens 
that is very funny. In front of each cage is a pan, 
and each monkey's food is put in his own pan: quite 
enough for his dinner. But the foolish, greedy monkey, 
instead of eating out of his own pan, stretches his 
paw over to his neighbor's pan and tries to steal his 
dinner. 

Meanwhile the monkey in the next cage is doing 
the same thing. Seeing his neighbor occupied in steal- 
ing from the dish beyond him, he reaches across to 
steal from the neighbor's. And so every one of the lit- 
tle rascals is stealing from the next, while the one be- 
hind him is stealing from him! And all the while 
each one has enough in his own dish. 

Sometimes one of them turns about and dis- 
covers his neighbor thieving. He is quite willing to 
steal from the next, but equally unwilling that his 
neighbor should steal from him. So he undertakes to 
bite and scratch the thief: or sometimes he tries to 
steal from the one who was stealing from him. So 
there is a deal of fighting and snarling: and mean- 
time much of the food is pushed out of reach, so that 



120 A MONKEY AND A MAN 

neither of the monkeys can get it, and often both go 
hungry ! 

Do you think men could ever be so foolish, even 
if they could be as greedy? I am sorry to say that 
men often act the same way. They seem neither bet- 
ter nor wiser than the monkeys. Having enough for 
all their needs, men often steal from each other, and 
fight over the stealing. One result is that much is 
wasted and men often go hungry. 

But I love to tell you of a different kind of man : 
a man who was both wiser and better than the mon- 
keys. He had a broken leg which kept him a long 
while in bed. One day they brought him a bunch of 
grapes: the first of the season from his own garden. 
It pleased him very much for he had watched the clus- 
ter ripening for a good while. And now it was so 
beautiful! Besides, he was sick: and nice things are 
never quite so nice as when one is shut up in the house. 

But he was thinking of a neighbor of his who had 
a fever; who had been ill a long while, and was just 
beginning to sit up. So he called a servant and said, 
"Take these grapes to my neighbor: he is sicker than 
I." And they went to the neighbor. But the neighbor 
remembered that a third man in the neighborhood was 
sick and he sent the cluster, with his kind regards, to 
him. These three men seem to have been much alike. 
For the third man sent his servant to carry the grapes 
to a man who lived 'round the corner. "Poor man!" 
he said. "I understand he has broken his leg! Take 
them to him." The third man was the same as the 



A MONKEY AND A MAN 



121 



first man! So the grapes went their beautiful round. 
Each man had the joy of getting them and the greater 
pleasure of giving them. Their value was much more 
than doubled, I am sure. 

Here are the two ways, dear little people: the 
selfish way of snatching and snarling and spilling, and 
the generous, loving way of giving and getting a 
greater gift. Which is to be your way? 




Mendelssohn and the Organ. 

I HOPE that many of the Plymouth children, — all of 
them, indeed — love music. It is a great loss not to 
love it. God himself must delight in music, I think; 
for He has given us so much of it in this world; the 
music of the trees, the music of the brooks and the 
rivers, the songs of the great sea and the singing of 
the birds. And, best of all, He has taught us to make 
music. 

The Bible tells us that God's home in heaven is 
full of music; that the angels sing; and that all the 
glorious saints who live with God delight in song. Of 
all the heavenly music, I think I want most to hear the 
singing of the children that are in heaven. There is 
nothing sweeter than children's singing on earth: and 
I believe the angels stop to listen when the children 
sing in God's heavenly temple. 

Among the great musicians who I am sure w T ill be 
in heaven is Felix Mendelssohn. He made glorious 
music when he lived on earth : and perhaps he is mak- 
ing music now which we shall sing when God calls us 
to live with Him in the Holy City. 

I once heard a story of Mendelssohn which inter- 
ested me. He visited a great church in Germany which 
they call a cathedral, where there is a great organ. The 
organist was there, but he did not know Mendelssohn. 
So when the great musician asked if he might play the 



124 MENDELSSOHN AND THE ORGAN 

organ, he refused him. But when Mendelssohn begged 
for the privilege, it was finally granted. Then he sat 
at the keys and the great organ poured out such glori- 
ous music as the old organist had never heard. He 
wondered who this strange visitor could be that made 
the organ sing and shout. When he asked his name 
and found that he was the great master of music, Men- 
delssohn, he wept. "To think of it!" he said, "that I 
had almost forbid Mendelssohn to touch my organ!" 
For he knew that Mendelssohn was the greatest musi- 
cian in Germany. 

There is another organ, my dear children, more 
wonderful, more splendid than any cathedral organ. 
There is no organ in the world that can make such 
music ! God himself made this organ. It is his. Some- 
times He comes to it and wants to bring out its music. 
But the one who has charge of it does not know the 
great builder, God ; and he says, No ! 

One of these greatest of organs is your own heart, 
my dear boy or girl. God made it for Himself. It is 
full of music which only He can bring out. If you will 
let Him sit at the keyboard He will make such music in 
your heart as will make the world glad as it listens. 

Would it not be a pity to shut God, the Master of 
Music, away from His organ? Do not say "No," to 
God ! Let Him have your whole heart, your hands and 
feet, your eyes and tongue, all your powers. And you 
will be so glad as you hear the music which He will 
bring from His organ: the world will listen and be 
glad : and you will make God glad, who loves no music 
so much as the music of the human heart. 



The Unwatered Plant. 

(Illustrations, a fresh beautiful plant and a withered chrys- 
anthemum that had been in the cellar for weeks and was 
covered with dead blossoms and withered leaves.) 

THERE are three things about this beautiful plant 
which God gives, and with which no one else has 
anything to do : the seed, the soil and the sunshine. No 
man can make either of these. God alone can make a 
seed; God only can make the soil; and the sunshine 
comes, you know, straight out of God's heaven. 

But these three things, wonderful as they are, 
could never keep this lovely plant so fresh and green, 
with its exquisite flowers. Here is another plant. It 
has had these three things, just as the first one has: 
seed, soil and sunshine. But, as you see, it is dry, 
withered and dead. Its beauty is gone and will never 
come again. There is nothing to do but to throw it 
away. 

Something else is needful to every plant beside the 
seed, the soil and the sunshine. Can you think what it 
is? The fourth thing is water: and it is just as neces- 
sary as the other three. Without water, the plant will 
droop and die, as this has. 

But why did not God, who made the seed, the soil 
and the sunshine for this poor, dead plant, give it 
water, too, so that it should not die ? Ah, he gave this 



126 THE UN WATERED PLANT 

plant to a woman to take care of. It was in her house, 
and God called her to be his partner in keeping it fresh 
and fair. He sent the sunshine every day, as he had 
given the seed and the soil; but God left it to the 
woman to water it. And because the woman did not 
do it, the plant died of thirst. 

The woman who had the care of this other plant, 
the one that is so beautiful after all the summer days, 
gave it water every morning. God never sent an angel 
to water it : the woman must do it or the plant would 
die. Aren't we glad she took care of it ! 

Don't my children think it is lovely to be in part- 
nership with God in taking care of his flowers ? I do ! 

But there are other things than flowers that will 
wither unless we help God to take care of them. There 
are our own souls ! God does a great deal for them 
which we cannot do. He has given Christ, the dear 
Saviour: He has given the church and the Sunday 
School and our own homes. But He has left something 
for us to do, just as He left it to the woman to water 
the plant. We must water his garden in our hearts 
with prayer and his Holy Word, or the flowers will 
wither and fade and die. 

There are people whose hearts are as dry and dead 
as this withered chrysanthemum ! They were beautiful 
once. They were as happy as flowers in a garden! 
And they made people happy, as the flowers do when 
they run over the wall. God himself was pleased with 
them. But to-day they are dry and withered. Perhaps 
some of them are looking just now at this poor plant 
and saying, "Our hearts are as dry !" 



THE UNWATERED PLANT 



127 



Why is it, children ? It is because they did not do 
their part. God has done His, but they have not done 
theirs. They have not watered His garden in their 
hearts. They have neglected to pray each day and to 
read God's Word. And this is why their hearts are 
dry. They have left the fair flowers in his garden to 
die. 

So the poor, dead plant stands here to tell us that 
we must do our part if our hearts are to be always fresh 
and beautiful, like a watered garden. 




The Fire on the Hearth. 

I HOPE all the Plymouth children are familiar with 
what we call "the open fire." Long, long ago al- 
most everybody had one in the big room where the 
family lived, the old "sitting room." 

Instead of a stove for warming the room, or a 
furnace in the cellar, there used to be a large open 
fireplace at the foot of the chimney ; big enough often 
to hold great sticks of wood that would have to be 
sawed and split a good many times to get into a stove. 
And when the cold nights of Autumn came, and a 
great fire was kindled on the hearth, all the family, 
big folks and little, would gather about it, not only 
for the warmth but for the good cheer. O, it was 
great fun! The blazing logs snapping as though the 
fire itself was enjoying the sport; the big sparks rush- 
ing up the chimney as if they wanted to challenge the 
stars! And a little later Mother popped corn over 
the coals for the children. 

In some ways it was nicer than having just a 
register in the floor with hot air coming up from the 
furnace in the cellar. At any rate, many people have 
memories that are very dear of the fire on the hearth. 

But I must tell you of a boy who once came to 
one of these glowing hearth fires only to go away 
grumbling and rubbing his eyes. He said it was hor- 
rid! Another boy came to the very same fire. His 



I3O THE FIRE ON THE HEARTH 

hands were numb and he was all a-shiver with the cold : 
and he just toasted himself with delight while he 
watched the little flames play hide and seek between 
the sticks of wood ! When he went away, he said the 
fire was fine: he had had a jolly time. . 

What made the difference do you think? What 
should make the same fire delightful to one boy, warm- 
ing his fingers and making his face shine with com- 
fort, and just "horrid" to another boy; sending him 
away rubbing his eyes and declaring that he could 
see nothing but a great, ugly smoke? 

O, — I forgot to say that while one boy came to 
the hearth like a sensible fellow and held out his hands 
to be warmed, the other — climbed onto the roof and 
looked at the fire down the chimney. 

Ah!' that accounts for it! Never look down the 
chimney at a fire. Every fire makes some smoke : and 
if you will look down the chimney you will see noth- 
ing but smoke. And you will go away with hands 
unwarmed and your eyes smarting. But if you will 
only come and stand at the hearth, why, the smoke will 
all run up the chimney! It won't trouble you a bit! 
And you will find plenty of warmth and good cheer 
at the open fire. 

Dear children, a great many things and a great 
many people are like the fire on the hearth. There 
is a great deal of good in them ; they give out a deal 
of warmth and light, of comfort and good cheer. But 
they make some smoke, too ! And there are two ways 
of getting along with them. You may approach them 
on the right side, as you would come to a fire on the 



THE FIRE ON THE HEARTH 131 

hearth ; and then you will find lots of cheer and bright- 
ness and get lots of good from them. Just come with 
your hands stretched out wide open, as though you 
expected something good, — and you will hardly fail 
to get it. The ugly smoke won't trouble you much. 
Just keep out of the way: let it alone, — and it will 
go off up chimney ! 

But there is another way. You can start out by 
saying: "I'm sure there is smoke about that fire: I 
hear people say how nice it is, but I believe it is mak- 
ing an ugly smoke. I'm going to look and see !" So 
you climb the roof and look down the chimney. You 
will be sure to find smoke, plenty of it: and to get 
blind and red in the face while you're looking for it. 
But why not let the smoke alone to run up the chim- 
ney and get lost in God's great atmosphere so clear 
and bright above us: while you sit at the fireside to 
enjoy all that is good in the fire on the hearth? 

Let us try to get on the right side of things, on 
the good side of people: to look for the good, to en- 
joy it and to praise it, — while we let God take care of 
the smoke that goes up the chimney. 




The Runaway Train. 

1READ in the papers this last week the story of a 
runaway train. A long train of freight cars on 
one of our railways was going down a steep grade 
on the mountain side, and somehow it got away from 
the engineer. Perhaps he thought he could hold it with 
the brakes whenever he wanted to: and so he was 
careless, while the cars were going faster and faster 
down the hill. 

After a while, he did his best to stop. He put 
on the brakes: he whistled to the brakemen and they 
put brakes on some of the cars which his brakes 
couldn't reach: and he even reversed the engine and 
made the big wheels turn in the opposite direction. 
But it was all of no use. The train went faster and 
faster, until it got a frightful speed. And when it 
struck a sharp curve near the foot of the hill it left 
the track: the locomotive was smashed, the cars were 
piled up in a great heap; the wreck was very costly, 
and some of the trainmen were killed. 

It made me think of some boys and girls, and 
men and women who are run away with: often mak- 
ing a wreck far worse than a smashed train. 

Do you understand why the train ran away? 
Sometimes things are run away with. Somebody runs 
off with them. But sometimes things just run away 
with themselves. That was the way with the train: 



134 THE RUNAWAY TRAIN 

it ran away with itself. You know it is easy to go 
down hill. You just have to start and away you go! 
Even a boy could start a train of cars down hill, if 
the brakes were off ! It would go very slowly at first : 
just creeping along. But the longer it goes the faster 
it goes. And by and by, on the steep grade, not even 
the engine can stop it. That was the way this train 
was wrecked. It got to going so fast that it could 
not stop. 

So it often is with a man. He starts down the 
hill of some bad habit. He drinks intoxicating liquor : 
he swears: he thinks bad thoughts. He says he will 
stop before he gets to the curve at the bottom of the 
hill, — for he does not mean to be wrecked. After a 
while he tries to stop, and he finds that he cannot. 
He really wants to: he sees how his habit is hurting 
him : he would give a great deal to stop, but he goes 
on and on until he is wrecked at the foot of the hill. 

So a boy begins to slip down the hill of bad tem- 
per: or he begins to use tobacco. He knows it isn't 
just right, but he says he will stop by and by. And 
it is such fun just to let go now, and to slip down the 
hill so easily! 

After a time he gets frightened : he tries to stop : 
he makes good resolutions : he puts on all the brakes. 
But it is too late. He goes to ruin at the bottom of 
the hill. His temper is stronger than he is: he can't 
control it. Some day, in a fit of anger, he strikes a 
fatal blow and is a murderer. Or he goes on with 
his cigars, though the doctor tells him he must stop, 
until he dies of what the doctors call "the tobacco 



THE RUNAWAY TRAIN 1 35 

heart/' or, as General Grant did, of a tobacco cancer. 
Dear boys and girls ! when you find a bad temper 
rising, when you begin to feel the desire to do any 
wrong, — then the train is beginning to go down the 
big hill! Put on the brakes quick! 



The pastor had a new proof during the week that 
"little pitchers have big ears:" that even very young 
children can be interested in a church service. The 
sister of a three-year old boy asked him, "Where did 
you go yesterday ?" "To church/' he said. "And what 
did Mr. Bayley say?" After a moment's thought the 
answer came : "He said, 'Look out, boys and girls ! 
train's going to start !' " 




Tommy's Brook and the Gargoyle. 

I SUPPOSE, dear children, that if I were to say 
something to you about a gargoyle you would 
hardly know what I meant : so I have brought one to 
show you. It appears to be an image of a man, grotes- 
que and unnatural: rather ugly, I think: with head 
thrown back and mouth wide open. A gargoyle ! You 
can remember the word if you think of "gargle." Gar- 
golye and gargle. The words are really cousins: and 
this fellow is called a gargoyle because he gargled: 
he has a big throat, you see. 

This is an image of a gargoyle such as is found on 
the great church of Notre Dame, in Paris. You would 
see them very often on churches and other buildings 
in Europe. I know of but one house in Denver that 
has them : the beautiful brown-stone house on the cor- 
ner of Colfax avenue and Lafayette street. Look at 
the corners of the roof as you go by, and you will see 
the gargoyles in their favorite position. 

What are these queer things for? You remember 
I said the gargoyle is a sort of gargle: having a big 
throat. They are water conducters, put at the corners 
of the roof to carry the water off when it rains. You 
may look at this one after service if you wish; 
you will see that there is a channel cut in his back and 
down into his mouth : so that the water from the roof 
finds its way out through the gargoyle's lips. 



138 tommy's brook and the gargoyle 

There are one or two things about the gargoyle 
that I wish to speak of. But first I must tell you of 
something else. When I was a lad, I used often to go 
down a certain hill and then up another. And in the 
valley between was Tommy's Brook. I wish you had 
known Tommy's Brook ! It rose from a spring in the 
woods close by. It never ran dry, because the spring 
was never dry. And as soon as it got out of the woods 
and could see where it was, it hurried to the road 
where its water would be of some use. It ran under 
the fence through a little gutter that had been hollowed 
out of a tree, and was covered with moss. At the 
end of the gutter was a big tub, close by the roadside. 
And into this tub the fresh sparkling water was al- 
ways tumbling with a laugh. 

Along the road would come men trudging on to 
the next town through the hot summer day : and horses 
stopping to take a long breath before they began to 
climb the hill. And the people and the horses would 
always stop to drink. The horses, of course, would 
have their heads let down and would drink out of the 
tub, — such a long, sweet drink ! But we boys used to 
stoop over and put our lips right down into the cool, 
flowing water in the gutter. That was better than a 
cup! 

Now, which would you rather be, children, — the 
gargoyle? or Tommy's Brook? Stop to think of it. 
Here is the gargoyle, away up on the edge of the roof, 
looking down on everybody and doing nothing for 
anybody. It seems to be saying, "Look up here and 
see me! Am I not fine? — or at least queer!" 



TOMMYS BROOK AND THE GARGOYLE 139 

The gutter in Tommy's Brook never says any- 
thing like that. It just stays down in the low place 
between the hills, bringing water, cool and fresh, for 
all that pass by. 

The gargoyle almost always has a fearfully dry 
mouth ! It must be just about filled up with dust dur- 
ing the summer days. Once in a while, when the rain 
comes, it has a rollicking time. But think of the way 
the water comes out of its throat: not in a quiet, 
peaceful way, as though it had time enough, but with 
a splutter and a splurge: and then it spatters you all 
over if you are within reach. That's a poor way of 
having a good time, isn't it? 

But the gutter in Tommy's Brook never gets a 
dry mouth. Its velvet lips are always cool and sweet. 
It never sputters or spatters. It just laughs quietly 
as it flows. 

I think Tommy's Brook has a lot better time than 
the gargoyle, don't you? 

May be you'll be tempted to be a gargoyle: to 
get up in some high place and wait in hopes that peo- 
ple will look at you and say, "O, how fine it would 
be to be up there!" I wonder if the girls are not 
specially tempted to play gargoyle : to be on show : to 
sit at home in beautiful clothes, thinking it wouldn't 
be half so fine to help Mother! Let us not live for 
show, but for service. Let us, like Tommy's Brook, 
keep always in touch with the never-failing springs. 
Then we shall laugh with joy. We shall always have 
enough and to spare. Somebody will come to us for 
a little freshening when the way is hard and the throat 
is dry. 



The Father's Hand. 

I ONCE knew a gentleman whose little boy asked 
one day to go with him to walk. Was there ever 
a father who did not love to take his boy walking? I 
am sure the Plymouth boys know of none. 

The walk led soon to a rough bit of road: and 
the father said to the little fellow, "Let me take your 
hand." I suppose the boy was a bit proud : for instead 
of giving his little hand into his father's, he said, "No, 
papa, let me hold your hand !" Thus they went on to- 
gether: the small fingers holding tightly to the big 
hand. 

It was not long before the boy stumbled; and, 
trying to catch himself, he let go his father's hand and 
fell. He was not hurt, but he learned a lesson. We 
have to fall sometimes to make us willing to learn! 
When he got up and they started on together, he said, 
"Papa, I guess you may hold my hand !" After that, 
though the road was still rough, the little fellow did 
not fall. He was not a bit stronger than before: but 
now the father was holding his hand, while before he 
had been trying to hold his father's hand. 

A little boy is pretty safe while his father holds 
his hand. I remember going when a little fellow with 
my father to see the soldiers parade. It was a new 
and wonderful sight to me : and as they marched down 
the street with their noisy brass band, the men seemed 



142 THE FATHER S HAND 

almost like giants : largely, I think, because they wore 
big bearskin hats, very tall and bushy. I could al- 
most imagine that the bears themselves were not far 
off ! I confess I was afraid at first : and wanted to get 
farther back on the sidewalk. But my father held my 
hand tight : I looked up and saw that he was not afraid, 
and all my fright was gone ! Was not my father there, 
holding my hand? And wasn't he stronger than all 
the soldiers? And wouldn't he take care of his own 
little boy? So my heart was quiet, and I had nothing 
to do but enjoy the parade. 

Do these dear little folk know that God, our 
heavenly Father, says: "I will hold thy right hand: 
fear not, I will help thee!" How good it is that as 
we go through this world, in which there are many 
hard and dangerous places where we are sure to be 
tired and weak, we may just let God hold our hands ! 
Sometimes we think it will do if we just cling fast 
to His hand. But before we know it we trip in some 
dangerous place : and we are so weak and so frightened 
that we let go. 

God does not say that if we will always hold his 
hand without ever letting go, then He will lead and 
keep us. He knows how weak we are, and that, even 
though He is always by our side, we can not always 
cling to Him. So He says to each of us : "Dear child, 
let me hold your hand. Don't be afraid! I will hold 
you fast, whatever comes. I will keep you safe." It 
is so much better to let God hold and lead us than to 
try to cling to Him. We should fail, but He will 
never fail. 



Self-Control. 

IN one of the verses which I read this morning there 
was the word "self-control." You will find it in 
the 5th chapter of Paul's letter to the Galatians, in the 
23rd verse. It is spoken of as one of the fruits of 
the Spirit; that is, one of the things that result from 
letting God have our hearts. 

Self-control — what is the use and value of it? I 
was reading the other day about the explosion of a 
locomotive some thirty miles from here on the Rio 
Grande railroad. It was drawing a heavy train, and, 
suddenly, without any warning, it burst. 

What made it burst? "Why, the steam that was 
in it," you say. Yes, it was the steam. And what a 
pity that there was steam in the boiler, wasn't it? If 
it hadn't been for the steam the locomotive would have 
been perfectly safe. Yes: and perfectly useless. If 
there were no steam in the locomotive, it might as well 
be set up in a museum as on the track: for it is the 
steam that gives it the power to draw the long, heavy 
trains so swiftly and smoothly from place to place. 
So we must not find fault with the locomotive for hav- 
ing steam, and a lot of it. 

The locomotive burst because it lost self-control. 
The boiler is made very strong on purpose to keep the 
steam in control, so that the engineer may turn it into 



144 SELF-CONTROL 

the cylinders, where it does the work of a hundred 
giants, pushing the piston back and forth and turning 
the big wheels. 

The locomotive must have steam or it is useless. 
But if it loses self-control, then it is worse than use- 
less : for it bursts, doing a deal of mischief. 

There is steam in our boilers, too. There is that 
power which we call temper. Then there is the power 
of very strong desire for anything. It is perfectly 
right that boys and girls should have strong desires, 
and that they should have tempers ; the trouble is, you 
know, when the locomotive boiler bursts. What re- 
sults then ? Why, there is a great splurge and splutter, 
and the locomotive is torn all to pieces. That is what 
happens sometimes when a boy loses self-control. It 
isn't always wrong for a boy to get mad; there are 
some things that ought to make a boy mad. But some- 
times he loses self-control, and uses angry words, and 
maybe blows come, and lie loses power. He ought 
to keep his temper to do temper's good work. And 
when a girl wants something very much — oh! very, 
very much, the danger is that there will be some ex- 
ploding words and somebody will be hurt. 

We sometimes hear people speak as if all temper 
were a bad thing. A man without a temper makes me 
think of one of these horses that just goes jogging, 
jogging down the street, looking as though he really 
needed a post to lean against. I wouldn't enjoy that 
kind of a horse ! I want a horse that is full of spirit 
and life — but well-trained ; so that, with the very finest 
action, he goes along, moving his limbs with grace, as 



SELF-CONTROL 



*45 



though there were springs in them, and he would go 
straight on and on and never tire. 

I think that is the way God wants us to be: full 
of spirit and life, and sometimes with temper. But 
look out that the boiler doesn't burst ! We want plenty 
of steam, but no explosion. 

Learn to hold yourself in, and then you will be 
better able to do your work in the world. 




The Upper Side of the Cloud, 

I AM sure my Plymouth children, having eyes to see, 
must have noticed the beautiful clouds of these 
June days : so big and billowy, like mountains of shin- 
ing snow. I love to watch them as they float along 
in the blue ocean of the sky, so pure and lovely. Some- 
times they look like puffy beds of down: and it al- 
most seems as though it would be fine just to jump 
right down into one of them, if one could only get 
up high enough. I suppose nobody has ever tried it 
to see how it would work. 

Have you ever noticed the difference between the 
top of these clouds and the bottom: how the under 
side is always darker than the upper? — almost black 
sometimes, while the upper side is white and shining. 
That is because the upper side is in the sunshine. 
I think it is worth our notice that even a big cloud 
always has a bright side, — the side that is towards 
the sun. Nothing can ever be dark that is in the 
sunshine. 

Did you ever think how fine it would be to be 
away up above the clouds, so that you could look down 
upon them? Men who go up in balloons can do that, 
often : they go up so high. But you and I will never 
own a balloon, I suppose! Yet we have something 
better: something with which we can fly much higher 
than balloons ever go. Did you know that, dear chil- 



I48 THE UPPER SIDE OF THE CLOUD 

dren? God has given us wings: He never sends a 
little child into the world without them. But I am sorry 
to say that a great many people lose their wings as 
they grow older. They do not use them and so they 
lose them: and some men and women have forgotten 
that they ever had any. How sorry I am for them! 
partly because they have to live on the under side of 
the cloud. 

You want to hear more about these wings, I hope. 
They are the wings of the soul : faith and imagination. 
If you know how to use them, you can fly up above 
the clouds and see how bright they are on the upper 
side. Of course we can't always live up there : for our 
work calls us to walk on the earth most of the time. 
But it is fine to soar like a bird now and then. And 
it is so much easier, too, to walk cheerily under the 
clouds after we have seen the brightness of their sunny 
side. Besides, we can tell some one else about it who 
has been living all the time on the under side : just as 
I think the birds tell one another of the bright South- 
land where they have had their home during the wintry 
cold : and so they get others to go with them when they 
go again. 

Do you know, dear boys and girls, that when peo- 
ple grow up they often call their troubles clouds? I 
suppose because they make the days seem dark and 
gloomy. It does get pretty dark sometimes ! Troubles 
often come thick and fast, and seem almost to pack 
together: just as you have seen the summer clouds 
run together like an army for battle, covering all the 
sky. Then comes the storm! the lightnings flash and 



THE UPPER SIDE OF THE CLOUD 1 49 

flame, and the earth is deluged with rain. These are 
hard days for grown up folks when the sun is hidden. 
And sometimes a good many such days come together, 
one after another, and it seems as if the sun would 
never shine again. 

These are just the days for our wings ! days to fly 
above the cloud into the upper air, where all is light 
because God's love is shining there. The clouds have 
shut out the sun from our little world for a while: 
but it is shining just the same. And the clouds that 
are so dark beneath are radiant above, like the shining 
mountains of a winter day. 

I do not want my Plymouth children to lose their 
wings as they grow up! Let us thank God for the 
wings he has given us. Let us learn to use them, so 
that in the dark and cloudy day we can slip away to 
the upper side of the cloud. 




Love's Scales; or, Why the Baby 
Wasn't Heavy. 

I HAVE heard a story, children, that I liked, and I 
want to share it with you. You know we enjoy a 
good thing much more when we share it with some- 
body. 

A gentleman walking in a Scotch city saw a little 
girl carrying in her arms a baby so big that she was 
almost staggering under the weight. It was one of 
these fat babies, as plump as — well, if you have one 
like it in your house you know there isn't anything in 
the world so plump and fine ; so I can't finish the com- 
parison. 

The gentleman stopped until she came up to him, 
and then he said to her, "Baby's heavy, isn't he, dear?" 
He really pitied her with such a heavy load, for the 
baby was almost as big as she. But listen, now, to 
what she said : "No, he's not heavy ; he's my brother !" 
She didn't want a bit of pity, you see ! 

I suppose the baby really was heavy. The scales 
would have said so if they had weighed him, I'm sure. 
But there is another sort of scales than those which the 
man uses in the store when you buy things. There are 
the scales of Love! These were what the little sister 
used when she said, "No, he's not heavy; he's my 
brother !" 



152 



LOVE S SCALES 



Love makes labor light, always. A great many 
things that are hard to do or to bear grow easy when 
they are done or borne for love. Why is it that moth- 
ers don't get tired quicker ? Working all day long for 
their children, carrying the baby up and down stairs — 
that big, fat baby, too! — sitting up with the children 
when they are sick, sometimes all night ; darning their 
stockings when they are well, and almost always so full 
of gentle patience. 

Ah! It is love that does it all and makes it 
sweet to the mothers. I wish, dear children, that you 
knew better how much Mother does for you, and how 
she delights to do it — just because she loves you so ! 

I wonder if it doesn't work the other way, too ; if 
children don't find it easier to do hard things when 
they stop to think love-thoughts! Don't you know 
about that ? If not, suppose you try it ! When Mother 
wants you to run an errand and you want to keep on at 
your play, then is the time to bring love in, with her 
fairy scales ! If you just think how much you want to 
finish the game, or how far it is to the store, and how 
very tired you are — all of a sudden ! — then it will be so 
hard to go — a heavy burden, indeed. But if you think 
a moment of Mother's love for you, of all she does for 
you every day, and then you begin to feel how dear she 
is, and how much you really do love her — then it will be 
easy to run. Love has made the burden light. 

Sometimes we find it hard to do what Jesus wants 
us to do. We are so busy, or so tired, or so eager to 
do things for ourselves ! But if we only think of His 
love for us, how He gave His life for us on the cross 



LOVES SCALES 



J 53 



and how dear He is, I am sure we shall be happy in 
doing anything for Him. O, let us keep Love's fairy 
scales always with us! 



At the close of the service a stranger came to the 
pastor leading a little fellow of about four years old. 
"Here is my little boy," he said, "who wants to speak 
to you. I don't know what he wants to say." The pas- 
tor put his face down to the little chap, who said, in a 
breath fluttering with eagerness, "When 'Lizbeth was 
sick I went to the grocery for her, an' I just runned I" 
He understood the sermon ; he had practiced it ! 




How the Calla Came to be White. 

THE children's text this morning is this lovely Calla, 
with its flower of creamy white. It is growing, 
you see, out of the earth in the pot: which is just 
common dirt. Out of just such dirt God makes all 
the beautiful flowers of the garden and the field. Is 
He not a wonderful God ? When I see what God can 
make out of the earth I feel sure that He can make 
something fair and lovely out of us, though we seem 
of little worth. Shall we not let Him have His own 
way with us, since His way is so beautiful? 

Would you like to know how the Calla comes to 
be so white and fair? Perhaps we can find out if we 
look carefully at it. Down here where it comes out of 
the earth it is not very attractive, is it? The stalk is 
dark and coarse : quite unlike the white blossom. In- 
deed, it is not pretty at all. But it gets lighter in color 
and finer in fibre as it gets higher. It is the sunshine 
that makes the change: the wonderful sunshine that 
we so often speak about together in our Sunday morn- 
ing talks. 

But how does the sunshine make the change from 
the coarse, homely stalk at the bottom to the creamy 
flower at the top? What does it do to the stalk to 
change it so? It would be worth while to find out, 
wouldn't it? The plant has an overcoat on. You 
wouldn't know it unless you look very closely. It is 



I56 HOW THE CALLA CAME TO BE WHITE 

a thin, tight wrapping which protects it and keeps it 
warm. At first the coat is buttoned up so tight that 
you can hardly make it out. But if you look with 
care you will see the edge of it opening just a little, 
a few inches from the ground. As the stalk gets up 
into the warm sunshine, of course it begins to unbut- 
ton its overcoat, just as men do in a warm Spring 
day. And by and by the coat is turned quite back, 
unfolding as the plant gets higher and higher. And 
so the plant is all the time letting go of itself and open- 
ing more and more into the light. And, notice! the 
more it opens out, the more beautiful it becomes : until 
at the base of the flower it is actually turning inside 
out, and then it begins to be white ! The flower itself 
is completely unfolded into the light. And that is why 
it is perfect: a beautiful curve of creamy white. 

It seems as though the plant was just thinking of 
itself at first: saying "What a cold world this is! I 
must just take care of myself!" And so it buttons 
its coat up tight and hugs itself. But as the sun woos 
it, it begins to think better of the world. It realizes 
that the dear old sun will keep it warm, and it needn't 
be concerned. So as it grows it lets go of itself. It 
opens its heart more and more. And the beautiful 
flower is just turned completely inside out! It isn't 
thinking of itself at all, but of the passer-by. I think 
I hear it saying : "Here I am, — waiting for you. God 
has made me beautiful, though I grew out of the dirt 
And he has made me beautiful for your enjoyment. 
Take me: carry me to some sickroom, that I may tell 
the sick one what God can do and how good God it!" 



HOW THE CALLA CAME TO BE WHITE 



157 



This then, is the lesson of the flower : to get out of 
ourselves is to grow beautiful. And so, when God has 
finished his work, the lovely flower, with its pure, white 
face, becomes God's preacher, to tell us that God wants 
us to be beautiful: and that He makes us beautiful by 
bringing us out of ourselves into the light of his love : 
out of selfishness into service. 




The Two Monks Who Tried to 
Quarrel. 

HAVE my children heard of the monks who used, 
many years ago, to live all by themselves, far 
from towns and cities, in lonely buildings that were 
called monasteries? 

They had no wives and children: and their big 
houses could hardly be called homes. I think they must 
have been very lonely ! And I am sure they might have 
been happier and have done more good if they had 
lived with other people. You know Jesus said his dis- 
ciples were to be the "salt of the earth." And the 
place for the salt is not on the top shelf of the pantry, 
shut up tight in a box to be safe, but in the midst of 
the cooking to flavor it. 

Yet many of these monks were good men, who 
lived as they really thought was right and best. They 
used to rise very early in the morning and work in 
their gardens, after they had prayed: and they made 
beautiful copies of the Bible, using bright colors that 
are still beautiful to-day. They were fond of music, 
too : and used to sing and play together a great deal. 

I have heard an interesting story of two of these 
old monks. They had lived together in the same mon- 
astery for a good many years, and always lived in love 
and peace. Indeed, those who live in love always live 



l6o THE TWO MONKS WHO TRIED TO QUARREL 

in peace. One day one of them said to the other, "Let 
us have a quarrel !" But his friend replied : "A quar- 
rel? I don't know how to quarrel!" "Well/' said the 
first: "I will show you." So it was agreed that they 
should try it. And the first undertook to show the 
other how to begin. "I will take this brick," he said, 
"and put it down on the ground between us. And> 
when I say 'That is mine/ you must say, 'No, it is 
mine/ Then I will insist that it is mine: and so we 
will get up a quarrel." "Very well," said the other. 
They were smiling as they looked into each other's 
faces and the first laid the brick on the ground. I think 
we should have laughed had we seen them, don't you ? 
It seems queer to begin a quarrel in that way ! But they 
had agreed on the plan, and so they began. "This 
brick is mine !" said he who was to commence. "No," 
said the other : "it is mine !" "But I say it is mine !" the 
first replied. "Well, then," said the second,— "Well 
then,— take it !" 

And this is the history of the quarrel ; the whole of 
it: for of course they couldn't quarrel after that. 
Really, the first monk didn't want the brick at all as 
soon as he found the other didn't! But I think they 
might have really quarreled if the dispute had gone on. 

I think the story is a good illustration of some- 
thing which Paul says about love: "Love seeketh not 
her own, is not provoked." You may find this, with 
much more that is beautiful, in the First Letter which 
Paul wrote to the Church in Corinth. Ask your father 
to read it to you this afternoon. Perhaps he will tell 
you, too, of some quarrels over just as silly matters 



THE TWO MONKS WHO TRIED TO QUARREL l6l 

as the question who owned the brick. There have been 
many such quarrels in families, quarrels among neigh- 
bors and even wars between nations, sometimes cost- 
ing millions of dollars and the loss of many lives. You 
see, dear children, that when each one is thinking only 
of what is his, and is determined to have it, it is easy 
to get up a quarrel over a very small thing. But when 
each is thinking kindly of his neighbor, too, a little 
yielding is not hard, and is sure to prevent a quarrel. 
Three things I want my Plymouth children to re- 
member: how many it takes to make a quarrel; how 
a quarrel may be stopped, and, above all, our beauti- 
ful text, "Love seeketh not her own/' 




The Voice at the Telephone. 

THERE is a young lady in Denver whom I want to 
see. And you can't guess, children, why I want 
to see her! "Have I heard something about her?" 
No; not a word. "Do I think she is very good look- 
ing?" Yes; good looking, if not handsome. "Have I 
seen a picture of her?" No; I have neither seen nor 
heard a thing about her. "Why, then, do I want to 
see this particular lady?" I shall have to tell you. 

There is a certain store down town with which I 
sometimes do business, and this lady usually answers 
the telephone. Her voice is so sweet and gentle that I 
just want to know her. I am sure she is a good 
woman. 

"Ah !" you say, "probably she knew she was talk- 
ing with the minister: and so she took pains to talk 
pleasantly." No; she knew nothing of the kind. She 
only knew that somebody wanted to give an order for 
groceries, — just groceries ! So she did not "fix" her 
voice for the occasion. It was just her natural, every- 
day voice. 

I know her already ! Her voice is almost as good 
as a photograph. It tells me that she is refined and 
kindly : full of courtesy, not impatient and fussy : a real 
lady. So I want to see her. I am sure she is worth 
knowing. 

Such a voice is worth a great deal to its owner : and 
a good deal to other people, too ! It is worth a great deal 



164 THE VOICE AT THE TELEPHONE 

to an employer to have such a voice at the telephone or 
behind the counter. It sells goods for him. It is a 
"capital" in business. (If you don't know what "cap- 
ital" is, your father will tell you.) Do you know that 
people are sometimes driven away from a store by the 
ungentle voice and ill manners of a clerk? Why, 
there are some clerks who almost say "s'cat!" as they 
look at a customer ! At any rate, their faces do. 

You do not know, dear children, how much need 
the world has for voices that are sweet and gentle. 
There is a great deal in the business world that re- 
minds me of a field I have seen that was full of rocks, 
rough and sharp and ready to bruise a tender foot. 
But I have seen just such rocks covered with a mossy 
velvet that was kept fresh by the nightly dew : making 
them soft and green so that one loved them. So there 
are soft voices, sweet and low — velvet tones that cover 
the hard things in daily life : and they are dearer than 
moss-grown rocks. 

One could afford to pay money for such a 
voice, but it cannot be bought in the market. There 
is only one way of getting the treasure. It must grow 
in the garden of your heart. The secret of a velvet 
voice is in character: and character is what you are. 
The voice is the expression of your thoughts and feel- 
ings, of your real self : and so it comes to be more and 
more a tell-tale, until your voice is you. If you would 
have a voice that will make even a telephone-wire glad, 
you must begin with the voice you have and make it 
true and soft and sweet by thinking cheerful, loving 
thoughts and living in kindly courtesy every day. 



The Iceberg's Secret. 

I THINK icebergs must have a good many secrets as 
they come sailing down from the land of mystery 
in the frozen North. One of these secrets I know : and 
I want to share it with the little people because it may 
be useful to them. 

But what good can an iceberg's secret do you, 
being boys and girls ? Do I wish you to be like an ice- 
berg ? Yes, in one respect. I would not have you cold 
as these big bergs are that chill even the waters of the 
sea. No, indeed! I want you to have always warm 
hearts and warm hands. What, then, does the iceberg 
do that I wish you to do ? 

I wonder if you have heard people say: "When 
you are in Rome, do as the Romans do"? Or, have 
you ever known a girl or a boy to do something just 
because others did it ? People often do what they know 
to be wrong just for that reason. And they excuse 
themselves by saying: "O, they all do it!" 

You know when people about us are all going one 
way or doing the same thing, it makes a sort of current, 
like the currents in the ocean, where the water is rush- 
ing in one direction very swiftly. And it is hard for a 
person to go against the current, just as it is hard for a 
boat to sail against the tide. Many a man sins because 
he cannot say No! Many a woman does what she 
knows is sinful because her friends and neighbors are 
doing it. 



1 66 the iceberg's secret 

But here comes our iceberg. Look at it! A big 
berg sailing down from the North, — or perhaps it is a 
little one : it doesn't matter which, for icebergs are like 
people in one respect; the little ones do just what the 
big ones do. Slowly and steadily it moves, a great 
mass of snowy ice, shining in the sun. It is just 
meeting a current in the sea that runs swiftly towards 
the North, in the very opposite direction from its own 
movement. What will it do when that current strikes 
it? If it does as many people do when the stream is 
against them, it will turn about. But no: it keeps 
right on, even though both wind and current are 
against it. What a splendid sight it is! 

Now we have come to the secret worth knowing. 
I want you, dear children, to be able to go right on 
against the current : to say No ! and to do right though 
everybody else should be going wrong. 

But you are asking, I hope, how it is that the ice- 
berg can go against the wind and the current: for it 
seems a strange thing, I am sure. Perhaps I shall 
be able to explain it to you. 

An iceberg is a piece of a glacier broken off : and 
a glacier is a great river of ice, broad and deep, that 
runs very slowly down a mountain side. When the 
glacier finds an ocean at the foot of the mountain it 
cannot stop or turn out. It goes right on, thrusting 
its front into the sea like a great plow. After a long 
time the lift of the ocean breaks off a piece of it, a 
huge mass of ice: and this is an iceberg. It breaks 
off with a great noise, and plunges about in the water, 
tossing and tumbling as though wild with fright. But 



THE ICEBERG'S SECRET 1 67 

at length, finding itself safely cradled in the strong 
arms of the ocean, it is quiet. And after a little, its 
long voyage begins, and it floats away Southward, its 
surface gleaming in the sun like the white sails of a 
great ship. Its voyage ends long afterwards, when it 
melts away in the warm waters of the Southern seas. 

Some of these bergs are very large: bigger than 
any building you ever saw, even than the Capitol ! But 
by far the greater part is always out of sight, down 
deep in the water. Indeed, there are seven times as 
much of a berg under water as out of water. So, you 
see, the iceberg reaches down deep into the great ocean. 
And this is the beginning of its secret ! We begin now 
to understand how it can go against the wind and 
the tide. For deep down in the ocean are currents that 
do not change as do the currents on the surface. The 
wind and the tide may run here or there, changing 
frequently: but these deeper movements of the water 
go always straight on. And it is these mighty powers 
of the deeper sea that made the iceberg independent 
of the upper currents and the changing winds. They 
take it in their strong arms and carry it where they 
go, on and on, without swerving to the right or the 
left. And all the berg has to do is to keep reaching 
down and taking hold of their strength. 

Does this remind you that God is stronger than 
all other things: that His holy will is always moving 
right on towards righteousness, and that when we are 
tempted to go with the current of evil, to do wrong 
because others do, He says to us : "Take hold of my 
strength" ? 



1 68 the iceberg's secret 

We have the secret of the iceberg's triumph over 
wind and tide: it takes hold and it keeps hold of the 
deeper waters that are always moving steadily on, and 
they give it the victory. 

And here is the secret, too, of our victory over 
the strong currents of temptation. Here is the source 
of the power that will enable us to say No ! to refuse 
to "go with a multitude to do evil." We must take 
hold of God! This is what Joseph did when, being 
tempted to do wrong where no one would know of it, 
he said: "How can I do this wickedness and sin 
against God?" Nehemiah knew the secret, too: for, 
after telling of the wrong-doing of the people all about 
him, he says: "But so did not I, because of the fear 
of God." The iceberg's secret is like the secret of 
God's faithful people: "take deep hold and move 
straight on." 




The Cuddled Babe. 

DO you know, children, the sweetest nest in all the 
world ? Is it the swallow's nest under the eaves ? 
or the nest of the meadow-lark in the grass? or the 
robin's nest swinging in the maple-bough? No, it is 
none of these, though they are all beautfful homes for 
wee birdlings. The dearest nest in the world is in your 
mother's arms! 

You have not forgotten, I am sure, how sweet it is 
to cuddle there, even though you have grown to be 
big boys and girls. That is one of the things you 
can never forget, even when the dear mother goes to 
live in heaven and you have boys and girls of your 
own. 

One of the most beautiful sights in the world is 
the cuddling of a baby. How still it lies in the nest, 
looking up into mother's face and thinking of noth- 
ing else. That is the way children find out how beauti- 
ful their mother is. 

Sometimes a little child runs to its mother to ask 
for something: sometimes because it is frightened or 
hurt and wants to be comforted. But often it comes 
when it is not frightened and when it has nothing to 
ask. It just wants Mother! And when it climbs into 
mother's lap and is folded in mother's arms, it cud- 
dles and is satisfied. And, do you know, children, — 
the mother is happier than her child? 



I7O THE CUDDLED BABE 

I have been thinking how grown up people often 
need to be cuddled. They are big enough to take care 
of themselves, we say: but sometimes their hearts are 
just as hungry as a child's. They are weak and tired: 
sometimes they are frightened, too! But very often 
they just want to be loved. 

But a grown man cannot be a child again, though 
he may have a child's heart. What shall he do when 
he longs for his mother ? Maybe she is in heaven long 
ago. And even if she hears the cry of his heart, she 
cannot come to him as she did when her baby cried. 

While I was thinking of these things it came to 
me that God knows how everybody needs to be 
mothered sometimes, even big folks. And I remem- 
bered how He said : "As one whom his Mother com- 
forteth, so will I comfort you." I am sure David 
must have known about it: for he says: "When my 
Father and my Mother forsake me, then the Lord will 
take me up." 

Would it not be sweet, even for a grown man, 
sometimes to lie still in God's arms, just as a baby 
does in its mother's? How safe he would be lying 
there ! How good it would be to forget, as a baby does, 
all fear and weakness: to think of nothing at all but 
the loving face that bends over the tired child! I am 
sure God wants us all to lie in his arms when we are 
tired and weak or sad: for He says: "Underneath 
are the everlasting arms." So here is the cradle for 
everybody, in God's arms. Here we may lie quiet, for- 
getting fear and trouble: seeing nothing in all the 



THE CUDDLED BABE 171 

world but God's face bending over us, wanting noth- 
ing but His love and care. 

But the most wonderful thing about it all, and 
the dearest, is that God is as eager for it as we can 
be ! I told you that when the baby cuddles, the mother 
is happier than the child. So God is gladder than we 
when we lie in His arms. I should not dare to say so 
if He had not told us so Himself, it seems so won- 
derful. Here is the beautiful picture which He has 
given us: see if it does not make you think of the 
mother as she sings to her nestling baby. "He will 
rejoice over thee with joy : He will rest in His love : He 
will joy over thee with singing." (Zephaniah 3:17.) 




The Tell-Tale. 

I NEVER knew children to like a "tell-tale." Tat- 
tling is poor business. But I am going to give you 
the story of a tell-tale that will interest you I am sure. 
And this tell-tale you will not blame: for it only at- 
tended to its own business, which is just what a tattler 
does not usually do. Moreover, this one is very use- 
ful : and that may surprise you, for tattlers are worse 
than useless. 

This tell-tale does not go to school to tell tales of 
children. It is not a boy : nor is it a girl, nor a man 
nor a woman. Now you are puzzled, I think! But 
you shall have the secret in a moment. 

Let me take you to a big building in a great city ; 
a building in which large sums of money are kept. It 
has many rooms upon several floors. And because of 
the danger of burglary, a watchman stays all night, 
walking about through the whole building, keeping 
watch. 

Here in this building is our tell-tale. It stays here 
all the time, but it has work to do only at night. Can 
you guess what it is for? 

Suppose the watchman falls asleep, or is lazy or 
careless, neglecting his rounds. Burglars might enter 
the building when he was not watching, and carry off 
the money. So it is very important that he should be 
faithful : never failing all night long to ,go into each 



174 THE TELL-TALE 

room to see that all is well. But there is no one to 
see whether he is faithful or not: for there is no one 
else in the building at night. How, then, are the 
owners of the money to know whether he goes the 
rounds or not each hour? Now you see the need of 
the tell-tale ! It is there to watch the watchman, to tell 
whether or not he is faithful. 

It is a little machine run by electricity. It has 
a face like a clock : and in the face is a small opening 
behind which a piece of paper comes into sight once 
an hour, staying one minute and then being moved 
on out of sight by the machinery. If the watchman 
is there just on time, he writes his name on the paper. 
But if he is not there, the paper slips away and he can- 
not draw it back. 

It is wound on a little spool behind the face : and 
in the morning, when the machine is opened, the blank 
space tells the tale, showing that at a certain hour the 
watchman was not doing his duty. He had just that 
single minute and not a second more : time enough to 
write his name had he been ready, but with no time 
to lose. But he was not ready. The tell-tale paper 
moved on and he lost his chance. I need not tell you 
that he loses his place when it is found that he is not 
faithful. 

How would you like to have a tell-tale watching 
you all the time, making a record that you could not 
change and that was sure to be examined in the day- 
light? A tell-tale that could make no mistakes, that 
would tell only the truth and that could not be bought 
off? Let me tell you, children, that just such a tell- 



THE TELL-TALE 1 75 

tale is keeping your record all the time. You do not 
see it : you cannot hear the wheels move : but it is al- 
ways with you and always keeping the record. Per- 
haps you will know what I mean if I tell you the name 
of the white paper. It is just what grown people call 
opportunity. Opportunity is the time when you ought 
to do a thing : and that is what the white paper means. 
It comes before you just at the right time and you have 
your chance. If you do the right thing at the right 
time, the record will show that you were faithful. But 
the white paper will not wait. If you are late or lazy 
or careless, it moves on just the same and it will never 
come back. If you let the moment pass without doing 
the thing you ought, the white paper will slip away 
with its record of your failure. 

All the time the silent wheels are turning. You 
have your chance for good work in the home, and in 
school: chance enough if you improve it: opportunity 
to get an education, to make a good character, to do 
good work, to be very useful. But the same chance 
will never come twice. The wheels are steadily mov- 
ing: the white paper will slip away and be gone. I 
want my children to make a record which they will be 
glad to see when God brings it out into the light of 
the great day 



Two Angels and Their Baskets. 

HAVE the Plymouth children heard of the two 
angels who went out from heaven one day with 
baskets in which to gather up the prayers and the 
thanks of men on earth ? 

One was to bring the prayers and the other the 
thanksgivings : and each took his basket. The prayer- 
angel took a large basket: for he knew that a great 
many people were praying to God to help them in 
trouble and to give them good things. But the thanks- 
giving-angel took a basket still larger: for he knew 
that while men ask a great many things of God, God 
is all the time giving many things that men never 
think to ask for. So he supposed that his basket 
would need to be bigger, to hold the thanks that every- 
body would send up to God for so many good gifts. 

And how do you think it turned out? Wouldn't 
you suppose there would be at least as many thanks 
as there were prayers: since when anybody asks for 
a thing and it is given him he is always courteous 
enough to say "Thank you"? And wouldn't it be 
strange, and very sad, if the people who ask God for 
gifts and are always receiving a great deal more than 
they ask should fail to thank Him? 

Just think a moment. Is it not true that God 
gives you every day many more good things than you 
ask Him for? Did you pray last night that the sun 



I78 TWO ANGELS AND THEIR BASKETS 

might come again this morning to give you light? or 
that you might have a good night's sleep ? or that you 
might be able to see and hear and run and talk when 
you should waken? I suppose none of us asked God 
for all of these things. Yet God has sent them to us, 
and very many more good gifts that we never asked 
him for. 

Surely, then, the thanksgiving-angel was right 
when he brought a larger basket for people's thanks 
than the other angel took to gather up their prayers. 
He must have been expecting not only the thanks 
which people would give for answers to their prayers, 
but thanks, also, for the gifts so beautiful and sweet 
for which men never ask but which God is always 
giving. 

But how did it turn out ? Alas ! while the prayer- 
angel came back with a basket crowded and overflow- 
ing with prayer, the thanksgiving-angel brought only 
a small basketful! Was it not a pity and a shame? 
The dear God goes right on giving even to those who 
do not thank Him. But I am sure He must be grieved. 

I hope the Plymouth children will not make the 
thanksgiving-angel sad when he comes to take their 
thanks up to God for all his loving gifts. 



Two Apples. 



(Objects, two apples : one thoroughly decayed, the other a 
beauty except at the point where it had lain against the first in 
the barrel.) 

ONE day last Spring a baby apple was born in an 
orchard on a hillside. It was cradled for a while 
in a beautiful flower, with a shade of tender green over 
its head. God himself took care of it night and day: 
giving it sweet sap for food and sending a great artist 
90,000,000 of miles to color it with exquisite beauty. 
Your fathers know the artist's name, I am sure. 
I hope you will ask them about it. When God had 
finished his work upon the apple and hung it low upon 
a swinging bough, the farmer saw that it was ripe 
and ready for market. So he carefully picked it, put 
it into a barrel with many others, and it started on 
the cars for Denver. 

There was another apple in the barrel that had 
begun to decay. And unfortunately, while they were 
traveling, the two jostled up against each other. And 
then what happened, do you think? I can show you 
just how it was, for I have them both here. Look at 
this beauty which I hold in my hand. How perfect 
it seems : round and smooth and shining, of a beautiful, 
rosy red! But as I turn it around you see one spot 
of decay. And though the other side is still beautiful, 
the decay has struck through to its heart. So our 



l8o TWO APPLES 

splendid apple, with which God took so much pains, 
is spoiled. It is good for nothing, and must be thrown 
away. 

And here is the apple that did the mischief. It 
began to be bad a good while ago: before it started 
on the journey. And it got worse and worse, as bad 
things usually do. It seems a pity it could not have 
been saved, doesn't it? But the loss of this one apple 
was only the beginning of the pity : for its decay spread 
to the next apple and ruined that, as you see. And if 
the journey had been long enough, the second apple 
would have corrupted the one that touched it on the 
other side, and the third would have spoiled another: 
and so on until the whole barrel-full would have been 
ruined. 

Do you notice, too, that the bad apple was a 
smaller, poorer one than the other? It never could 
have been so fine, even if it had tried. But yet it was 
able to spoil the other. 

All this made me think of some things about boys 
and girls. In the first place, God takes a great deal 
more pains with them than he does with apples. To 
the apples he gives sunshine and rain and flower- 
cradles. But to children he gives fathers and mothers 
and homes: with many gifts which I cannot stop to 
speak of. That is because God thinks a great deal 
more of a boy or a girl than of an apple. An apple 
lasts but a little while until it is eaten : and that is the 
end of it. But a child may live to be a man or a woman, 
to do a great deal of good in the world : and then live 
forever with God in heaven. 



TWO APPLES l8l 

Boys and girls, like apples, may decay : becoming 
bad at heart and growing worse and worse until they 
are ruined. Boys and girls, like apples, journey to- 
gether, too. They are together in the home, in school 
and at play. And when one that is bad touches one 
that is sound and beautiful, there is great danger that 
the second one will become corrupted : for decay 
spreads from one to another among people just as it 
does among apples. In this way one bad boy may 
ruin another boy, and another and another : until many 
boys are spoiled. 

We need to be careful, do we not? how we come 
close to any one who is corrupt, whose heart is not 
pure: lest we should be defiled. If we are afraid of 
diseases that are contagious, such as scarlet fever, how 
much more should we dread the contagion of sin, which 
corrupts the heart and spreads decay on every hand. 




The Weaver's Shuttle. 

I HAVE a curious text for our New Year's talk, my 
dear children: this bit of carpet, with its large, 
bright figures. But it has spoken a message to me 
which I hope I may be able to pass on to you. 

You have thought, I suppose, how carpets are 
made. Here, you see, are some strong threads which 
I easily pull out of the fabric. These were fastened 
in the loom, running from one end of it to the other. 
They are called the warp. Then across these are other 
threads, which I am drawing out now: threads of a 
brighter color than the others. These make what is 
called the woof. The warp and the woof make up the 
carpet: the warp running lengthwise, remember, and 
the woof running across. When the warp-threads are 
stretched in the loom, the weaving begins. This is 
done by the shuttle, a little thread holder which plays 
back and forth across the warp, carrying the thread 
of the woof and weaving it in between the threads of 
the warp. The shuttle has a curious name in the Ger- 
man language: a word which means the shoot-spool. 
If you will get your mother to show you how the 
shuttle works in her sewing machine, you will see why 
that name is given. The shuttle is the shoot-spool be- 
cause it holds the thread, like a spool, and shoots across 
the warp, back and forth, — clickity-clack, clickity 
clack ! 



184 THE WEAVER'S SHUTTLE 

So the carpet is. made up of these threads that are 
laid in one by one as the shuttle flies to and fro across 
the warp-threads. Even the most magnificent figures 
are made in this way, thread by thread. The colors, 
whatever they may be, are in the threads. And ^s the 
threads are woven closely into the carpet and the car- 
pet rolls out slowly at the end of the loom, the bright 
figures appear. 

Of course the weaver must put just the colors into 
the thread which he wishes to have in the carpet when 
it is finished. And any mistake in the coloring or the 
weaving of the threads will appear in the carpet to 
mar it. It would be easy, you see, to spoil the carpet 
by neglecting the threads. 

Would my boys and girls like to be weavers ? You 
are going to be, all of you! And you will not wait, 
either, to be men and women first. Every day of this 
new year you will each of you be weaving : not a piece 
of carpet, but something of much greater importance. 
You will be weaving your own lives! 

I wonder what the pattern is going to be: what 
the figures and the colors! I am sure you would like 
to have the new year show bright and beautiful when 
it is finished, twelve months from now. And so I 
wanted to tell you to-day to be careful what figures 
you choose, what colors you use and what pattern you 
follow. All these are in the threads, remember. And 
they go into the fabric one by one, as you weave. So 
you must look out sharply for the threads, to have them 
just right. 



THE WEAVER'S SHUTTLE 1 85 

I want you to choose now what the figures of this 
year shall be. I am sure you admire the bright colors 
of unselfishness, obedience, purity and kindness. These 
are what you would like to see in your new year when 
the weaving is done. How you would be ashamed and 
I should be grieved if the colors and the figures should 
prove to be those of selfishness, disobedience, impurity 
and hatef ulness ! No, no ! You must not weave these 
into the new year! 

But what the threads are, the carpet will be, al- 
ways. And the threads which you will weave into 
your life are the days, one by one. As the threads 
make the carpet, so the days make the year. And as 
each thread is made of smaller threads, twisted into 
one, so each day is made up of many actions: words 
and deeds that make the color of the thread. Just 
think how a lie or a wicked deed would stain the 
thread and mar the figure! Remember, my dear little 
people, the bright, pure colors which you want in the 
threads you must put into every act and word. What 
you want the year to be you must make the days as 
the shuttle flies, — clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity- 
clack ! 




Whitewashing vs. Washing White. 

(Illustrated with two pieces of glass, a little whitewash and 
a damp sponge.) 

I WANT to talk with my children this morning about 
two ways of dealing with our sins. And I shall 
try to make my meaning plain by something which you 
can see. Here is a piece of glass which has a spot 
on it, a black, ugly stain. We do not like the looks of 
it, do we? We would like to get rid of it: and there 
are two ways we may try. 

Suppose we take a little of this whitewash and 
cover it out of sight: will not that be a good way? 
Let us try it. There! you see I have whitewashed it 
so thoroughly that you can no longer see it: we have 
disposed of the stain. That is one way of doing: do 
you think it is all right? 

Before you answer, let us look at the glass once 
more. The black spot is really hidden, you see. White- 
washing appears to be a pretty good way of dealing 
with spots. — But wait a moment! I find I can't see 
through this glass ! It used to be clear and transparent : 
I could look right through it and see you all. But now 
it is dull and dim. What is the matter ? Ah ! the white- 
wash that covered the spot has spoiled the glass: its 
clear transparency is ruined! 

That is always the result of whitewashing a spot 
on glass. Yet this is the very way people often take 



1 88 WHITEWASHING VS. WASHING WHITE 

with their sins : grown people and children too. Have 
you ever known any one to try that method? Here 
is a boy who has told a lie. He is afraid of being 
found out : so he covers it with the whitewash of an- 
other lie. A man takes money that is not his own: 
and he covers the theft by stealing more. A woman 
has in her heart unkindness and jealousy: and she 
whitewashes them with genteel manners. All these 
people know very well that they have sinned. But 
their chief concern is lest others should know it: so 
they try to hide the wrong. Perhaps nobody ever finds 
them out. They have covered their sin so well with 
the whitewash of deceit that they seem to be good and 
pure. Those who look at them think they are white 
souls. But God knows and they know that the stain 
of sin is there. 

Is this a good way to deal with our sins? Let 
us see what it does to the heart. It always takes 
more and more whitewash to keep the spots covered. 
When one lie is hidden by another, you must tell a 
third to cover the second. The deception that hides 
sin must be all the time kept up, for the whitewash 
keeps wearing off. And all the while the heart is 
getting dull and dead. Its clear transparency is lost: 
its purity is destroyed. Even though the sin is con- 
cealed, the heart is ruined. And all the time the sinner 
is afraid of being found out. That is the reason that 
people who are deceitful often will not look you 
straight in the eye. They have lost their purity of 
heart, and the eye tells the tale. 



WHITEWASHING VS. WASHING WHITE 1 89 

Let us be thankful that there is another way of 
dealing with sins, just as there is another way of deal- 
ing with the stain on the glass. Let me show you. 
Here is another glass that has a spot on it. We will 
undertake now, not to cover the black spot by white- 
washing it, but to wash it away altogether. There ! — 
the wet sponge has entirely removed it. It is gone! 
And the glass, you see, is not injured as it was before. 
It is perfectly clear ; as transparent as before the stain 
came upon it. This is just God's way of dealing with 
a sinful soul. He never whitewashes: He washes 
white. "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall 
be as white as snow." 

You cannot hide your sin from God. Though you 
cover it, the black stain is there: and when the cover- 
ing wears away, the spot will be seen. And mean- 
while you have been losing the clear transparency of 
your soul. God's light can no longer shine through. 

God's way is the only right way. When we have 
done wrong, let us not try to hide it by any deception, 
but come to God as quick as we can to confess it, Then 
He will wash the stain away, and we shall be "whiter 
than snow." 




©EC 14 1903 



OEC. \B l«U3 



